THE 

Lady  of  the  Robins 


A  ROMANCE  OF 

Some  of  New  York's  400 


BY 

ADELLA  OCTAVIA  CLOUSTON 

AUTHOR  OF 

"  What  Would  the  World  Think  " 
"A  Title  Rejected '* 
Etc. 


I  would  not  enter  on  my  list  of  friends, 

Thcagh  graced  with  polished  manners  and  fine  sense 

Yet  wanting  sensibility,  the  man 

Who  needlessly  sets  foot  upon  a  worm. — Cowper 


PUBLISHED  BY 

The  American  Humane  Education  Society 

DR.  FRANCIS  H.  ROWLEY,  President 
GUY  RICHARDSON,  Secretary 


OFFICES :  45  MILK  STREET,  BOSTON 


Avery  Architectural  and  Fine  Arts  Library 
Gift  of  Seymour  B.  Durst  Old  York  Library 


iEx  ICthns 

SEYMOUR  DURST 


When  you  leave,  please  leave  this  book 

Because  it  has  been  said 
"Ever  thing  comes  t'  him  who  waits 

Except  a  loaned  book." 


THE 


Lady  of  the  Robins 


Some  of  New  York's  400 


ADELLA  OCTAVIA  CLOUSTON 


"  What.  Would  the  World  Think  " 
"A  Title  Rejected" 
Etc. 


I  would  not  enter  on  my  list  of  friends, 

Though  graced  with  polished  manners  and  fine  sense, 

Yet  wanting  sensibility,  the  man 

Who  needlessly  sets  foot  upon  a  worm. — Cowper. 


PUBLISHED  BY 

The  American  Humane  Education  Society 

DR.  FRAN'CIS  H.  ROWLEY,  President 
GUY  RICHARDSON,  Secretary 


OFFICES:  45  MILK  STREET.  BOSTON 


A  ROMANCE  OF 


BY 


AUTHOR  OF 


Copyright.  1910 
By  The  American  Humane  Education  Society 


All  rights  reserved 


INTRODUCTION 


The  American  Humane  Education  Society 


DR.  FRANCIS  H.  ROWLEY,  President 
HON.  HENRY  B.  HILL,  Treasurer 
GUY  RICHARDSON,  Secretary 


THE  AMERICAN  HUMANE  EDUCATION  SOCIETY 
The  first  Society  of  its  kind  in  the  World 

Founded  by  Geo.  T.  Angell  Incorporated,  March,  1889 

The  American  Humane  Education  Society  was  incorporated  by  a 
special  act  of  the  Massachusetts  legislature,  and  has  power  to  hold  a  million 
of  dollars.  It  is  an  organized  effort  to  promote  "Glory  to  God,"  "Peace 
on  Earth,"  "Kindness,  Justice  and  Mercy  to  Every  Living  Creature,  both 
Human  and  Dumb,"  by  carrying  humane  education  into  all  our  American 
schools  and  homes,  aiding  humane  societies,  and  founding  Bands  of  Mercy 
over  the  whole  American  Continent. 

Its  president  is  Dr.  Francis  H.  Rowley  of  45  Milk  Street,  Boston;  its 
vice-presidents  are  the  Governor  of  Massachusetts,  ex-Governor  John 
D.  Long,  Most  Reverend  William  H.  O'Connell,  Bishop  Willard  F.  Mal- 
lalieu,  and  other  prominent  gentlemen  and  ladies.  On  its  board  of  directors 
are  two  of  our  Massachusetts  judges,  ex-Attorney  General  Albert  E.  Pills- 
bury,  and  other  prominent  gentlemen.  Its  directors  are  elected  for  life; 
when  one  dies  another  is  elected. 

By  a  special  act  of  the  Massachusetts  legislature  its  property  is  held 
In  trust  by  three  trustees,  Messrs.  Alfred  Bowditch,  Laurence  Minot  and 
Thomas  Nelson  Perkins.  All  three  are  widely  known  as  investors  in  Boston 
and  elsewhere. 


THE  AMERICAN  HUM  AXE  EDUCATION  SOCIETY. 


In  its  first  year  it  founded  in  western  states  fourteen  new  humane 
Societies  and  four  hundred  and  sixty-six  new  Bands  of  Mercy,  and  offered 
prizes  for  essays  to  the  students  in  all  our  American  colleges,  also  to  all 
American  editors. 

It  has  caused  to  be  established  Bands  of  Mercy,  in  all  our  states  and 
territories  and  elsewhere,  and  claims  that  by  humane  education  it  is  not 
only  preventing  cruelty  but  protecting  property  and  life  from  incendiary 
fires,  railroad  wrecks,  and  all  other  forms  of  outrage. 

It  has  carried  the  circulation  of  the  one  book,  "Black  Beauty,"  up  to 
over  three  million  copies.  By  prize  offers  and  otherwise  it  has  obtained 
various  other  humane  stories  and  valuable  humane  literature,  which  have 
had  wide  circulation  in  our  own  country  and  elsewhere,  some  of  them  reach- 
ing a  circulation  of  hundreds  of  thousands.  It  has  employed  several  mis- 
sionaries. 

It  sends  its  organ,  Our  Dumb  Animals,  every  month  to  the  editors 
of  every  newspaper  and  magazine  in  America  north  of  Mexico,  to  the 
presidents  of  all  American  universities  and  colleges  north  of  Mexico,  and 
to  all  members  of  Congress. 

It  has  already  distributed,  at  half  cost,  in  the  public  schools  and  else- 
where, 150,000  copies  of  its  three  most  popular  books,  "Black  Beauty," 
"Strike  at  Shane's,"  and  "Our  Gold  Mine  at  Hollyhurst." 

In  a  single  year  the  American  Humane  Education  Society  and  the 
Massachusetts  Society  for  the  Prevention  of  Cruelty  to  Animals  printed 
and  distributed  more  than  a  hundred  and  seventeen  millions  of  pages  of 
humane  literature. 

All  persons  wishing  to  know  more  about  this  Society  are  respectfully 
requested  to  write 

DR.  FRANCIS  H.  ROWLEY,  President, 

45  Milk  Street,  Boston. 


I 

FORM  OF  WILL 

I  do  hereby  give,  devise  and  bequeath  to  "The  American  Humane 
Education  Society,"  incorporated  by  special  Act  of  the  Legislature  of 

Massachusetts,  the  sum  of  dollars  (or  if  other  property,  describe 

the  property) . 

To  give  to  "The  Massachusetts  Society  for  the  Prevention  of  Cruelty 
to  Animals,"  use  the  same  words,  only  substituting  its  name  in  place  of 
"The  American  Humane  Education  Society." 

If  there  are  inheritance  or  legacy  taxes  at  the  time  of  executing  your 
will,  please  kindly  say  (if  you  so  wish)  that  they  are  to  be  paid  from  the 
estate. 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  ROBINS 

A  ROMANCE  OF 

SOME  OF  NEW  YORK'S  400 


This  little  book  which  is  at  once  a  charming 
love  tale  and  a  literary  product  with  a  purpose, 
won  the  highest  prize  offered  by  our  American 
Humane  Education  Society  for  the  best  story  on 
the  cruelties  of  fashion. 

That  it  must  do  a  vast  amount  of  good  among 
the  rich  who  shall  read  it,  making  them  more 
thoughtful  and  so  more  kind,  and  at  the  same 
time  delight  and  help  a  multitude  of  others  to 
whom  it  will  reveal  the  fact  that  among  the  rich 
there  are  many  humane,  merciful  and  unselfish, 
we  cannot  doubt. 

When  this  Society  began  to  publish  "Black 
Beauty"  one  generous  woman  gave  five  thousand 
dollars  to  introduce  it  to  a  lot  of  people  to  whom 
it  was  mailed  free.  We  would  greatly  like  to  be 
able  to  send  "The  Lady  of  the  Robins"  far  and 
wide  upon  a  mission  of  kindness  and  good  will. 
All  gifts  for  this  object  will  be  acknowledged  in 
Our  Dumb  Ariimals. 

FRANCIS  H.  ROWLEY, 

President  of  the  American  Humane  Education  Society,  the 
Massachusetts  Society  for  the  Prevention  of  Cruelty  to  Animals, 
and  the  Parent  American  Band  of  Mercy,  45  Milk  Street,  Boston 


PRINCIPAL  CHARACTERS. 


Mrs.  Norman  Burton,  the  severely  conventional 
widow  of  a  multi-millionaire. 

Miss  Helen  Burton,  her  fashionable  and  evidently 
favorite  daughter. 

Miss  Laura  Burton,  Helen's  elder  sister.    A  girl 
of  forcible  character,  noble  intentions^  and  the 

heroine  of  the  story. 
Mr.  Edmund  Burton,  Mrs.  Burton's  only  son,  and 

a  gentleman  of  leisure. 
Miss  Lillian  Chester,  a  young  lady  of  nine  years, 

extremely  precocious   and   self-willed,  but  her 

grandmother'' s  particular  pet. 
Mr.  Harold  Cornell,  one  of  the  best  specimens  oj 

New   York's  "400,"  but  temporarily  under  a 

cloud. 

Major  Upton,  a  retired  army  officer,  somewhat 
aggressive  but  always  logical. 

Mrs.  Archibald  Vernoyse,  a  wealthy,  eccentric,  but 
kindly  disposed  woman,  v:ho  manages  her  millions 
to  please  herself. 

Mrs.  Cornell,  a  devotee  of  fashion,  and  a  thorough- 
ly heartless  woman. 

Madame  Dupont,  a  handsome  and  vivacious  French 
milliner,  supposed  to  be  incognito. 


Mrs.  William  Olney  Majrvin, 
Miss  Madeline  Bronson, 
Miss  Gertrude  Wellington, 
Miss  Persis  Huntington. 


All  prominent  members 
of  society  -who  became 
interested  in  Miss 
Laura  Burton's 
gigantic  scheme  of 
philanthropy. 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  ROBINS 

A  ROMANCE  OF 

Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred. 


chapter  I. 

RS.  Norman  Burton  sat  dozing  before 
an  open  grate  in  the  handsomely  ap- 
pointed music-room  of  her  town  house 
on  Murray  Hill,  New  York.  A  Turk- 
ish hand  screen  of  filigree  and  ivory  had  fallen 
from  her  hand,  and  her  usually  pale,  cold  com- 
plexion was  decidedly  flushed  by  the  heat  from  the 
fire. 

Across  the  room  her  daughter  Helen,  a  girl  of 
twenty,  sat  at  a  piano  practising  the  latest  opera, 
while  Edmund,  her  son,  was  idly  looking  through 
the  columns  of  an  evening  paper. 

Suddenly  a  little  clock  on  the  mantle  struck  ten. 
As  the  last  stroke  sounded  Mrs.  Burton  opened  her 
eyes,  glanced  rapidly  about  the  room,  then  fretfully 
asked  if  her  daughter  Laura  had  returned. 

"  No,  mother,"  replied  Edmund,  "  she  has  not." 

"  What  can  she  mean  by  remaining  out  so  late," 
continued  Mrs.  Burton,  still  more  fretfully.  "  Real- 
ly that  girl  distracts  me.  I  shall  be  compelled  to 
forbid  her  from  crossing  the  threshold  unattended 
if  she  persists  in  keeping  such  late  hours." 


2  Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred. 


Mrs.  Burton  rose  from  her  seat  and  swept  into 
the  drawing-room,  her  handsome  evening  gown 
trailing  behind  her.  Stepping  to  a  front  window 
she  threw  the  lace  curtain  aside  and  looked  into  the 
street,  but  it  was  deserted. 

"It's  a  positive  disgrace,"  Mrs.  Burton  con- 
tinued, as  she  returned  to  her  seat  by  the  fire,  "for 
Laura  to  conduct  herself  in  this  Bohemian  manner. 
No  well-bred  girl  who  values  her  reputation  would 
venture  out  in  the  evening  unchaperoned  and  re- 
main until  this  hour.  She  is  a  positive  reproach  to 
my  training  and  influence,  and  Laura  was  so  care- 
fully reared,  too.  Why  does  she  disregard  my 
wishes  ?  What  have  I  done  to  merit  such  treatment 
from  her  ?  " 

"There's  no  occasion,  mother,  to  be  anxious 
about  Laura,"  remarked  Edmund,  indifferently. 
"  She's  quite  capable  of  taking  care  of  herself." 

"  Besides,"  broke  in  Helen,  in  a  slightly  sarcastic 
tone,  "  we  are  morally  certain  that  Laura  is  attend- 
ing a  revival  meeting  in  that  non-sectarian  taber- 
nacle. So  don't  worry,  mother ;  even  a  revival 
meeting  in  that  superlatively  religious  camp  can't 
last  much  longer,  and  without  doubt  she'll  soon  be 
here." 

Mrs.  Norman  Burton's  proud  lip  curled  scornful- 
ly. "Why  can't  she  be  content  with  attending 
church  with  us  on  Sabbath  mornings  like  any  sensi- 
ble girl,  instead  of  running  after  a  lot  of  religious 
cranks  and  semi-lunatics  at  such  unheard-of  hours  ? 
Positively  it's  a  mystery  to  me  from  whom  she  took 


Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred.  3 


her  peculiarities.  It  certainly  was  not  from  my 
side  of  the  house." 

At  that  moment  there  was  a  loud  noise  as  of 
some  one  falling,  followed  by  a  little  shriek,  then  a 
bound  and  a  laugh.  In  another  moment  Miss 
Lillian  Chester  stood  before  them.  Miss  Lillian 
was  a  young  lady  of  nine  years — the  orphan  child 
of  Mrs.  Norman  Burton's  favorite  daughter,  who 
had  died  when  Lillian  was  but  three  years  old. 
From  the  day  of  Mrs.  Chester's  death  the  child  had 
lived  with  her  grandmother,  and  literally  ruled  the 
house  with  her  determined  young  will.  Whatever 
this  young  autocrat  did  was  considered  very  near 
right  by  her  doting  grandmother,  who  would  sanc- 
tion in  her  what  she  would  have  sanctioned  in  no 
one  else.  At  times  Mrs.  Burton  made  a  pretense  of 
reproving,  and  of  correcting  her ;  nevertheless  she 
was  quite  indignant  if  any  one  else  presumed  to 
do  so. 

"How  did  you  manage  it,  Queen  Lil?"  asked 
young  Burton,  as  the  child  so  unceremoniously  ap- 
peared in  the  room. 

44  Manage  what?  "  asked  Lillian. 

44  Why,  the  racket  you  just  made.  For  a  moment 
I  thought  the  ceiling  had  fallen  down  or — " 

' '  Sixty-five  pounds  avoirdupois  would  be  nearer 
the  truth,"  interrupted  the  little  lady  with  an  air  of 
wonderful  wisdom.  44  You  are  too  ex-ex-extrava- 
gant in  the  things  you  say,  uncle  Ed,  and  it's  not 
nice  nor  proper." 

44  What  do  you  know  about  avoirdupois,  and  ex- 


4  Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred. 


travagance,  and  all  that?"  asked  Edmund,  quite 
amused. 

"  I  know  a  lot  about  it,"  returned  Lillian.  "  Miss 
Wilson  tells  me  the  different  kinds  of  weights,  and 
calls  me  an  4  avoirdupois.'  It  sounds  like  some 
kind  of  an  animal,  doesn't  it?" 

44  But  you  haven't  answered  my  question.  How 
did  you  manage  to  make  all  that  noise  ?  " 

44  Oh,  I  didn't  manage  it  at  all,"  she  replied, 
laughingly.  "  It  was  managed  for  me  by  old — old 
— Morpheus,  as  aunt  Helen  calls  him.  I  was  sound 
asleep  in  there"  (pointing  to  the  drawing-room)  "on 
a  sofa,  and  the  first  I  knew  I  was  lying  flat  on  the 
floor,  but  I  didn't  lie  there  long." 

44  Children  like  you,"  said  Mrs.  Burton,'4  should  be 
in  bed  before  this  hour.  I  have  time  and  time  again 
requested  that  you  be  in  bed  every  night  at  eight 
o'clock.  Really,  I  don't  know  how  Bartlett  dares 
disobey  me  as  she  does.    I  shall  be  compelled  to — " 

44  Grandma,  dear,"  interrupted  Lillian,  fearlessly, 
44  you  must  not  blame  Bartlett,  for  she  is  not  to 
blame.  She  wanted  to  put  me  to  bed  at  eight 
o'clock,  and  she  tried  her  best  to  do  so,  but  I 
wouldn't  be  put.  Then  when  aunt  Helen  began 
that  terrible  racket  on  the  piano,  I  laid  down  on  the 
sofa  to  wait  for  auntie  Laura,  and — well  I  guess  I 
fell  asleep,  though  I  didn't  mean  to.    That's  all." 

44  You  shouldn't  use  such  expressions,  Lillian,  as 
4  that  terrible  racket  on  the  piano.'  You  certainly 
do  not  learn  them  from  your  governess,  Miss  Wil- 
son?" 


Some  of  Neio  York's  Four  Hundred.  5 

"  No  indeed,  grandma.  Miss  Wilson  is  very 
proper,  and  she  is  as  cross  as  a  bear  when  she  hears 
me  say  anything  like — " 

"Never  mind  repeating  it  again,  but  tell  me 
where  you  have  learned  them?" 

Miss  Lillian  hesitated  a  moment,  then  demurely 
replied  :  "I  hear  uncle  Ed  say  them." 

Edmund  laughed  aloud,  but  Mrs.  Burton  was 
plainly  annoyed,  and  gave  Lillian  a  short  lecture  on 
self-improvement,  and  the  importance  of  retaining 
all  the  good  one  reads  and  hears,  and  the  equal  im- 
portance of  rejecting  the  bad. 

"  Now  tell  me,"  she  added,  "  why  you  refused  to 
let  Bartlett  put  you  to  bed  ?  " 

''Because  I  didn't  want  to  go,"  was  the  prompt 
reply.  "I  wanted  to  wait  up  until  auntie  Laura 
comes,  for  I'm  going  to  sleep  with  her  to-night. 
She  said  I  might,  and  she  said  if  I  lie  quiet  until 
morning  and  don't  kick  or  pull  the  bed-clothes  off, 
that  I  might  sleep  with  her  every  night  after  this ; 
and  I  guess  I  can  for  sure,  for  I  was  nine  years  old 
yesterday  and  most  likely  my  kicking  days  are 
over." 

"Lillian,  your  expressions  are  sometimes  posi- 
tively shocking.  What  is  Miss  Wilson  thinking 
about  to  permit  them.  I  hope  I  have  not  engaged 
her  in  vain,  although  I  must  admit  it  looks  like  it. 
As  for  your  aunt  Laura,  even  her  example  is  not  al- 
ways of  the  best ;  and  when  you  are  her  age,  I  hope 
you  will  not  take  after  her  in  the  hours  you  keep  or 
in  the  people  you  mingle  with." 


6  Some  oj  Neiv  York's  Four  Hundred. 


"  I  am  sure  auntie  Laura  would  not  mingle  with 
any  one  who  was  not  good,"  replied  Lillian,  with 
some  spirit. 

"  I  don't  mean  to  say  that  they  are  not  good  in 
their  way,"  returned  Mrs.  Burton,  "  but  mere  good- 
ness is  not  all  that  is  essential ;  and  inasmuch  as 
you  are  such  a  favorite  with  Laura,  I  wish  you 
would  try  to  persuade  her  to  give  up  those  revival 
meetings  in  that  tabernacle." 

"Auntie  Laura  is  not  at  the  tabernacle,"  replied 
Lillian.  44  She  is  at  that  nice  little  chapel  where 
so  many  green  vines  grow,  and  lots  of  nice  people 
besides  her  go  there,  too." 

44  Lillian  does  not  know,"  said  Helen  in  a  positive 
tone,  "  for  I  am  quite  sure  Laura  is  at  the  taber- 
nacle." 

44 1  do  know,"  retorted  Lillian,  44  and  she  is  not 
there.    You  only  say  so  because — because — " 

44  Because  what?"  asked  Edmund. 

44  Because  only  yesterday  aunt  Helen  said  a  lot 
of  cranks  go  to  the  tabernacle,  and  she  made  fun  of 
them  ;  and  now  she  says  auntie  Laura  is  there  just 
to  tease  me." 

44  How  do  you  know  Laura  is  at  the  chapel?" 
asked  Mrs.  Burton. 

44  Because  she  said  she  was  going  there.  I  guess 
she  likes  the  people  and  the  service  at  the  chapel 
better  than  she  does  where  she  goes  with  us  Sun- 
days." 

44  "Why  so,  Queen  Lil?"  asked  Edmund. 

44  Don't  call  me  that,  please.    I'm  not  black,  and 


Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred.  7 


I'm  not  much  of  a  Queen  either,  when  I'm  only  al- 
lowed to  sit  up  until  eight  o'clock.  I  do  think," 
she  proceeded  in  a  grieved  tone,  "  that  I  might  be 
allowed  to  sit  up  until  nine  now,  since  I  am  nine 
years  old.  Eight  o'clock  was  well  enough  when  I 
was  only  eight,  but  I  am  sure  it's  not  asking  much 
to  want  another  hour  for  each  year." 

44  Then  when  you  are  ten  I  suppose  you  will  want 
to  remain  up  until  ten,  and  so  on?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

4 'And  when  you  are  twelve  you  will  want  to  sit 
up  until  midnight?  " 

"  You  do,  and  aunt  Helen  does,  and  auntie 
Laura,  and  sometimes  grandma." 

"And  you  expect  when  you  are  twelve  years  old 
to  do  just  as  we  grown-up  people  do — is  that  it  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"And  when  you  are  thirteen,"  asked  Helen,  "what 
then?" 

44  Why  then  I'll  stay  up  until  thir — until  one 
o'clock,"  she  added  with  a  triumphant  air. 

4  4 And  so  on  until  you  remain  up  all  night  and 
never  go  to  bed  at  all,"  said  Mrs.  Burton.  4 'Well, 
I  must  say  you  are  a  very  silly  little  girl,  and  do  not 
know  what  is  best  for  you.  By  the  time  you  are 
thirteen  I  hope  you  will  be  wiser." 

"  If  she  is  not,"  said  Helen,  "  I  do  hope,  mother, 
that  you  will  still  insist  upon  her  going  to  bed  at 
eight ;  in  fact  six  would  please  me  better,  for  I  as- 
sure yon,  Miss  Pert,"  (addressing  herself  to  Lillian) 
"  that  as  it  is  we  see  quite  too  much  of  you." 


8  Some  of  Neiv  York's  Four  Hundred. 


4 'Auntie  Laura  never  talks  to  me  like  that,"  re- 
turned Lillian  with  a  pout,  "  and  she  likes  to  have 
me  around,  and  she'll  be  glad  to  see  me  when  she 
conies." 

"Undoubtedly;  Laura's  taste  is  decidedly  pecu- 
liar." 

"  I  beg  pardon — her  taste  is  better  than  yours, 
and — " 

"There,  there,"  interrupted  Mrs.  Burton,  "don't 
be  rnde,  Lillian,  or  I  shall  ring  for  Bartlett  to  put 
you  to  bed  immediately." 

"I  wish  you  would,  mother,"  said  Helen.  "I 
don't  see  why  you  hesitate.  That  child  is  actually 
spoiled ;  she  has  her  own  way  in  everything  and 
keeps  the  house  in  a  constant  uproar.  Laura  is  the 
only  one  who  can  do  anything  with  her." 

"That's  because  auntie  Laura  is  good  tome," 
broke  in  this  precocious  child.  "She  don't  find  fault 
with  me  all  the  time.  She  tells  me  in  a  nice  way 
what  to  do,  and  what  not  to  do,  and  I  mind  her." 

"  Did  you  ever  hear  such  impudence  from  a  child 
of  her  age,"  demanded  Helen.  "  Really,  she  is  be- 
coming unbearable." 

"Lillian,"  said  Edmund,  with  a  view  to  changing 
the  conversation,  "  you  did  not  tell  me  why  Laura 
likes  the  chapel  service  better  than  the  service  in 
our  own  church." 

"I  guess  she  thinks  the  chapel  belongs  to  the 
Lord,"  answered  Lillian,  "  and  is  not  so  much  'our 
church,'  as  the  one  where  we  go ;  and  I  guess  she 
thinks  the  people  there  mean  what  they  say,  and  what 


Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred.  9 

they  pray  about,  more  than  they  do  in  '  our 
church.' " 

"  Did  Laura  tell  you  that?"  asked  Helen,  con- 
temptuously. 

".No,  she  did  not.  I  know  it  for  myself.  I've 
been  with  her  twice,  and  I've  been  to  4  our  church* 
lots  of  times,  and  I've  seen  the  people  come  in  and 
kneel  down  and  begin  to  pray.  Anyway  their  lips 
moved,  but  they  kept  looking  all  around  the  church, 
so  I  guess  their  thoughts  were  not  very  much  on 
what  they  made  believe  they  were  thinking  about." 

"Lillian,  you  are  getting  to  be  perfectly  incor- 
rigible," said  Mrs.  Burton.  "  I  really  do  not  know 
what  course  to  pursue  with  you." 

"What  does  'incorrigible'  mean,  grandma?" 
asked  the  child  meekly. 

"  It  means  being  disobedient,  perverse,  and  un- 
manageable, the  same  as  you  are." 

Lillian  came  closer  to  Mrs.  Burton  and  threw  her 
arms  lovingly  around  her  neck.  "  I  don't  mean  to 
be  disobedient,  or  any  of  the  other  big  words  you 
mentioned,"  she  said  contritely;  "but  sometimes 
aunt  Helen  and  uncle  Ed  do  expuate  me  so  that — " 

"  Exasperate,  you  mean,"  suggested  Mrs.  Bur- 
ton. 

"Yes,  that's  the  word.  I  couldn't  quite  say  it. 
Well,  they  do,  and  every  bit  of  blame  is  laid  to 
auntie  Laura.  And  even  you,  grandma  dear,  al- 
ways seem  to  find  fault  with  her,  and — " 

"There,  that  will  do!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Burton 
somewhat  sternly.    "You  have  said  quite  enough 


10        Some  of  New  York's  Fou  r  Hundred. 


on  the  subject.  Were  you  any  other  thtin  my  dear 
Rosalind's  only  child  I  fear  I  should  be  compelled 
to  surrender  you  into  other  hands.  You  are  too 
much  of  a  moral  burden  for  mine." 


CHAPTER  II. 


UST  then  the  street  door  bell  rang. 

44  O,  auntie  Laura  has  come!"  ex- 
claimed Lillian  joyously  as  she  rushed 
toward  the  door,  nearly  knocking  the 
dignified  footman  down  in  her  eagerness  to  get 
there  ahead  of  him.  A  moment  later  she  returned 
to  the  music-room,  dragging  Miss  Laura  Burton 
with  her. 

44  Do  come  in,  auntie  dear,"  she  was  sayiug, 
while  tugging  at  her  aunt's  hand,  44  and  let  grand- 
ma know  you  have*  come,  'cause  she's  worried. 
"We're  all  in  there,  and  there's  no  company ;  so 
don't  go  up  stairs  —  never  mind  your  hat  and 
cloak." 

Laura  Burton  was  a  distinguished  looking  girl  of 
twenty-two,  with  a  pleasing  face  and  charming 
manner.  Her  entrance  into  the  room  was  greeted 
by  a  severe  look  from  her  mother,  a  careless  nod 
from  Helen,  and  a  provoking  smile  from  Edmund. 
But  Laura,  thoroughly  accustomed  to  such  greet- 
ings, smiled  graciously  upon  her  nine-year-old 
niece,  who  busied  herself  with  first  removing  her 
hat  and  furs,  then  unbuttoning  her  gloves. 

Presently  Mrs.  Norman  Burton  spoke.  44  Lil- 
lian," she  said,  4 4  if  3tou  have  finished,  and  can  be 


12 


Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred. 


quiet  for  a  few  moments,  I  would  like  Laura's  at- 
tention. Laura,"  she  proceeded  in  an  imperious 
tone,  "I  wish  you  would  come  here  where  I  can 
speak  more  easily." 

Laura  unhesitatingly  rose  and  took  a  seat  near 
her  mother,  Lillian  following  and  clinging  to  her. 

"  I  wish  to  impress  you  with  the  fact,"  said  Mrs. 
Burton,  "that  I  am  greatly  displeased  with  your 
conduct.  What  possible  explanation  can  you  make 
for  being  out  so  late?  Do  you  not  consider  it  dis- 
graceful? Did  you  not  realize  that  it  would  dis- 
please me?  and  by  what  right  do  you  keep  my 
horses  and  coachman  out  this  cold  night? " 

"Mother,"  replied  Laura  calmly,  "I  am  very 
sorry  to  have  displeased  you  ;  I  certainly  did  not 
do  so  voluntarily.  I  admit  that  I  should  not  be 
out  at  this  late  hour  alone,  but  it  seemed  impossi- 
ble for  me  to  come  sooner.  As  for  Thompson  and 
the  horses,  however,  they  were  comfortable  in  a 
warm  stable." 

44  What  stable,  pray?" 

"I   really    don't   know  —  probably  Thompson 
does;  he  stabled  them." 
4 '  By  whose  orders  ?  " 
"  By  mine." 

44  You  took  an  unwarranted  liberty,  and  I  am 
tempted  to  forbid  you  the  carriage  again  except 
when  you  accompany  me." 

4>  I  had  no  intention  of  taking  a  liberty,"  replied 
Laura.  44 1  only  thought  to  make  the  horses  com- 
fortable." 


Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred,  13 


"  Now,  grandma,"  said  Lillian,  coaxingly,  "you 
know  you  are  glad  the  poor  horses  were  not  out  in  the 
cold,  and  you  are  only  cross  because  auntie  Laura 
had  them.    Now  if  uncle  Ed  or  aunt  Helen  had  —  " 

"Lillian  Chester!''  exclaimed  Mrs.  Burton, 
sternly,  "  go  to  your  aunt  Helen  and  sit  down,  and 
do  not  speak  again  to-night  unless  you  are  spoken 
to."  Mrs.  Burton  seemed  more  displeased  with  her 
favorite  than  she  had  ever  been  before,  as  Lillian 
readily  saw,  and  without  a  word  she  obeyed. 
Helen  bent  lower  over  her  music,  while  Edmund 
critically  examined  the  strings  of  a  violin. 

"Now,  Laura,"  continued  her  mother,  "explain 
to  me  if  you  can  where  you  were  to-night  until  half 
after  ten.  " 

"I  was  attending  a  church  service  until  after 
nine,"  replied  Laura,  "then  I  started  for  home. 
On  the  way  I  saw  a  poor  old  horse  lying  in  the 
street,  hitched  to  a  heavy  load  of  furniture  and 
being  unmercifully  beaten  by  the  brutal  driver.  I 
could  not  endure  the  sight  and  ordered  Thompson 
to  interfere.  Then  the  man  became  abusive  and 
vented  his  rage  all  the  more  on  the  poor  horse." 

"Well,  what  then?" 

"  I  left  the  carriage,  called  a  policeman  and  had 
the  man  arrested." 

"Very  interesting  indeed,"  was  Mrs.  Burton's 
sarcastic  comment.    "  And  pray  what  next?  " 

"  The  poor  beast  was  so  badly  bruised,  and 
more  dead  than  alive,  that  I  had  it  unhitched  from 
the  load  and  taken  to  a  stable  for  treatment." 


14        Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred. 


"What  became  of  the  furniture?"  asked  Ed- 
mund. 

' '  The  owner  was  there  and  I  presume  he  looked 
after  it,"  replied  Laura. 

"It  is  very  strange  to  me,"  said  Mrs.  Burton, 
"that  you  are  always  running  into  some  disagree- 
able adventure.  Last  night  you  found  a  clog  with 
a  broken  leg,  which  must  needs  require  your  atten- 
tion. The  night  before  it  was  a  half-starved  cat 
with  a  litter  of  young  kittens,  and  they  too  must  be 
attended  by  you.  Why  do  you  always  manage  to 
see  these  disagreeable  sights  ?  Why  interest  your- 
self in  them  ?  Why  does  Helen  not  meet  with  sim- 
ilar experiences?  She  never  sees  these  repulsive 
things  ;  never  makes  herself  conspicuous,  nor  dis- 
graces me  by  her  associations  with  low  bred  truck- 
drivers  and  wretched  animals  that  might  better  be 
dead  than  alive." 

"Yes,"  repeated  Laura,  with  intense  feeling  in 
her  voice,  "they  might  far  better  be  dead  than 
alive ;  their  untold  suffering  which  I  witness  so 
often  cannot  be  expressed,  and  might  better  be 
ended." 

"  Why  witness  it,  then?  why  discommode  your- 
self to  look  it  up  ?  Helen  never  does  —  why  should 
you?  Why  are  you  so  unlike  your  sister,  so  un- 
like me?" 

"Because  I  am  like  my  father,"  said  Laura, 
quietly. 

For  the  moment  this  unexpected  answer  silenced 
Mrs.  Burton  and  set  her  to  thinking. 


Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred. 


15 


"You  ask  why  I  see  these  repulsive  sights," 
continued  Laura.  "  I  see  them  because  they  exist 
everywhere.  "Were  I  to  go  about  blindly,  would  it 
alter  the  fact  of  their  existence?  No;  the  distress 
and  suffering  would  go  on  just  the  same,  only  to  a 
greater  degree,  for  I  have  the  satisfaction  of  know- 
ing that  in  a  quiet  way  I  have  brought  relief  and 
even  comfort  to  hundreds  of  isolated  cases  among 
human  beings  and  dumb  animals  as  well." 

"  You  are  quite  a  philanthropist,"  remarked 
Helen  ironically. 

"You  are  an  extremist,  Laura,"  said  Mrs.  Bur- 
ton. "Philanthropy  is  very  commendable  in  vener- 
able old  gentlemen  retired  from  the  financial  cares 
of  life,  but  in  a  young  woman  of  your  age  it  is  de- 
cidedly unbecoming ;  it  savors  of  new-womanism 
and  a  desire  for  vulgar  notoriety." 

"  Mother,"  returned  Laura  with  calm  dignity, 
"  no  one  can  accuse  me  of  any  such  desire.  And  I 
cannot  see  what  age  or  sex  has  to  do  with  relieving 
distress.  To  my  mind  it  would  be  far  more  com- 
mendable in  a  person  to  begin  a  life  of  philan- 
thropy when  young,  and  go  through  life  '  scattering 
seeds  of  kindness '  rather  than  wait  until  one's 
earthly  career  is  nearly  ended." 

"  "We  will  not  discuss  the  matter  further,"  said 
Mrs.  Burton  coldly.  "  You  may  not  seek  that 
sort  of  notoriety,  but  you  cannot  avoid  it  if  you 
continue  as  you  have  been  doing.  Your  acts  of 
'  philanthropy '  will  appear  in  the  daily  papers  as- 
sociated with  truck-drivers  and  tenement  houses ; 


16         Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred. 


with  probably  a  police  court  as  the  climax,  morti 
fying  me  beyond  expression.  But  to  all  I  have  said 
you  show  an  utter  disregard ;  and  to  prove  to  you 
that  this  cannot  continue  with  impunity,  I  have  de- 
cided to  resort  to  measures  which  will  compel  you 
to  heed  my  wishes." 

A  look  of  wonder  and  inquiry  was  visible  in 
Laura's  eyes  but  she  made  no  comment. 

"I  have  resolved,"  continued  Mrs.  Burton,  "to 
cut  down  your  allowance  to  a  figure  which  will  no 
longer  enable  you  to  pursue  your  4  philanthropic 
career,'  as  you  are  pleased  to  term  it." 

Laura  looked  incredulous.  "O  mother,"  she 
cried,  "  you  surely  will  not  do  that !  " 

"  Yes,"  was  the  reply,  "  I  shall  do  just  that,  and 
nothing  less.  It  has  been  a  dollar  here  to  some  old 
woman  to  pay  her  for  harboring  a  stray  cat  for 
you,  five  dollars  there  to  board  a  waif  of  a  dog  un- 
til its  owner  could  be  found,  with  another  dollar  or 
two  added  to  advertise  for  the  owner ;  and  it's  been 
ten  dollars  time  and  time  again  to  recompense  some 
wretched  man  who  was  deprived  of  his  horse  for  a 
day  or  two  while  it  was  being  examined  by  your 
orders  to  see  if  it  were  fit  to  work.  It's  absurd  ! 
It's  almost  an  insanity  for  a  girl  of  your  station  in 
life  to  be  so  eccentric,  and  it's  high  time  your  allow- 
ance was  taken  away." 

A  look  of  indignation  came  to  the  girl's  face. 
"Mother,"  she  began  in  a  low  intense  tone,  "it 
would  be  cruel  —  more  cruel  than  you  know  —  to 
place  me  in  so  false  a  position,  and  to  subject  me  tc 


Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred.  17 

such  humiliation  ;  for  there  are  people  depending  on 
my  promise  for  relief  on  the  clay  I  receive  my  al- 
lowance." 

"They  will  no  doubt  survive  their  disappoint- 
ment, and  learn  that  in  future  they  must  exist  with- 
out your  assistance  the  same  as  they  would  had 
they  never  heard  of  you.  I  am  not  a  heartless 
woman  by  any  means.  I  do  not  like  to  see  dis- 
tress any  more  than  you  do.  I  wish  there  were 
no  such  conditions  in  life  as  distress,  poverty  or 
suffering ;  but  inasmuch  as  there  are,  and  I  cannot 
prevent  them,  I  wisely  keep  aloof  and  do  not  dis- 
quiet my  peace  of  mind." 

"You  act  your  own  pleasure  in  the  matter, 
mother,"  returned  Laura,  "  and  why  not  give  me 
the  same  privilege  ?  If  it  pleases  me  to  spend  part 
of  my  allowance  in  a  humane  way  rather  than  spend 
it  all  on  myself  for  unnecessary  luxuries,  why  not 
let  me  do  so  ?  " 

4 '  For  the  reason  that  I  am  resolved  to  end  all 
this  eccentric  nonsense  at  once.  There  is  no  know- 
ing to  what  extremes  your  mania  would  carry  you 
if  left  to  your  own  discretion.  What  do  you  think 
I  heard  about  you  one  day  last  week  ?  You  have  no 
idea,  indeed?  Well,  I  was  told  on  good  authority 
that  you  were  seen  going  into  a  back-yard  in  a 
tenement  district,  accompanied  by  a  disreputable- 
looking  woman  carrying  a  basket  on  her  sleeveless 
arm ;  and  it  was  said  that  the  basket  contained  a 
sick  cat.    Is  that  report  correct?  " 

"  Yes,  it  is  perfectly  correct." 


18 


Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred. 


"And  yet  you  expect  me  to  give  you  an  allow- 
ance to  continue  that  sort  of  business  !  Are  you 
insane  ?  Have  you  no  pride  ?  What  do  you  think 
of  yourself  anyway  ?  " 

"I  am  not  insane,"  returned  Laura  proudly, 
"nor  am  I  lacking  in  pride;  and  I  think  myself 
doing  better  than  those  who  spied  on  my  actions 
and  reported  them  to  you." 

Ignoring  her  daughter's  remark  Mrs.  Burton  con- 
tinued:  "  What  do  you  suppose  young  Mrs.  Hem- 
mingway  or  any  of  4  our  set '  would  think  were  they 
to  know  of  your  improprieties  ?  " 

44  What  they  would  think  does  not  interest  me," 
replied  Laura.  4 'As  for  Mrs.  Hemmingway,  I  care 
little  for  what  her  opinions  would  be." 

44  Mrs.  Hemmingway  is  very  popular  this  sea- 
son," remarked  Helen.  4  4  Her  toilettes  are  quite 
the  rage,  and  the  admiration  of  everyone.  " 

44  Her  toilettes !  "  repeated  Laura.  44  Yes,  I 
know  that  Mrs.  Hemmingway  is  noted  —  not  for 
her  kindness  or  generosity,  but  —  for  her  marvel- 
lous toilettes !  Her  chief  ambition  seems  to  be 
to  win  the  admiration  of  men,  and  to  be  a  leader 
of  fashion.  Even  that  wonderful  creation  which 
adorned  her  head  when  she  called  here  last  Thurs- 
day, represented  the  slaughter  of  three  bright  col- 
ored song-birds.  Does  that  fact  give  her  an  un- 
pleasant thought?  No  indeed  ;  she  is,  I  think,  too 
selfish  and  unscrupulous  to  trouble  herself  about 
anything  so  long  as  her  own  personal  vanity  is 
gratified.    I  like  to  dress  well  too ;  but  I  would 


Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred.  19 


despise  myself  if  I  had  no  higher  ambition  than  to 
adorn  my  person  with  a  view  to  outrivalling  others. 
Why  then  should  I  care  for  her  opinion  or  for  the 
opinion  of  any  one  like  her?" 

"It  seems  to  me  you  are  very  uncharitable  in 
your  denunciation  of  people,  particularly  of  Mrs. 
Hemmingway,"  said  Helen. 

"  I  don't  wish  to  be,"  replied  Laura.  "  I  dislike 
to  think  or  speak  ill  of  any  one,  but  I  am  dealing 
with  facts.  Mrs.  Hemmingway  said  that  she  was 
not  particularly  interested  in  any  one  or  anything ; 
that  she  found  4  self '  quite  all  she  had  time  or  in- 
clination to  think  of  or  attend  to.  And  when  a 
person  talks  like  that  do  you  think  her  opinions  are 
worth  considering  —  except  when  they  agree  with 
your  own?  Besides,  she  told  me  that  she  both  dis- 
liked and  feared  all  animals.  And  yet  at  that  very 
moment  she  was  clothed  from  head  to  foot  at  animals' 
expense.  Her  head  gear  she  owed  to  song-birds.  Her 
feet  were  dressed  in  the  hide  of  one  animal,  her  costly 
furs  represented  another.  Her  hands  were  incased  in 
the  skin  of  a  third,  while  her  fashionable  gown  of  silk 
and  wool  represented  the  original  covering  of  some 
species  of  sheep  together  with  the  labor  of  the  silk- 
worm ;  and  last,  though  not  least,  she  wore  a  jacket 
of  baby  Persian  lamb.  And  yet  Mrs.  Hemmingway 
dislikes  and  fears  animals  —  unless  they  are  dead." 

"Perhaps  Mrs.  Hemmingway  is  not  aware  of 
what  is  said  in  regard  to  the  mode  of  procuring 
baby  Persian  lamb,"  said  Mrs.  Burton. 

"Possibly  so,"  returned  Laura.    "  Still  I  doubt 


20        Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred. 


if  the  knowledge  would  prevent  her  wearing  it  so 
long  as  it  is  fashionable." 

Helen  suddenly  turned  from  her  piano.  "Laura, "she 
asked , ' '  why  are  you  so  opposed  to  baby  Persian  lamb  ? 
It  certainly  is  beautiful,  and  I  am  only  hoping  mother 
will  give  me  a  jacket  of  it  even  if  you  don't  want  one." 

An  indignant  light  shot  from  Laura's  fine  eyes. 
"  Can  you  realize  what  a  jacket  of  baby  Persian 
lamb  means,  Helen?"  she  demanded.  "Do  you 
know  that  every  jacket  is  said  to  represent  the  cruel 
death  of  from  thirty  to  forty  unborn  lambs,  to  say 
nothing  of  the  equally  cruel  death  of  the  mothers  ?  " 

"  All  furs  represent  the  death  of  animals,"  re- 
plied Helen,  "and  why  is  the  death  of  the  Persian 
lamb  any  worse  than  that  of  others  ?  " 

"Because  it  is  much  more  horrible  and  cruel," 
replied  Laura.  "To  secure  the  finest  specimens 
for  the  market  the  unborn  lamb  is  taken  from  its 
mother  alive  and  skinned."  Turning  to  her  mother 
Laura  earnestly  asked  if  she  approved  of  it. 

"No,"  said  Mrs.  Burton,  "I  do  not.  At  one 
time  I  admired  it  very  much  and  fully  intended  to 
buy  you  and  Helen  each  a  jacket  of  it.  About  that 
time,  however,  I  read,  on  what  seemed  to  be  indispu- 
table authority,  the  revolting  manner  in  which  it  is 
obtained,  and  the  knowledge  so  shocked  me  that  I 
abandoned  the  idea  and  will  not  countenance  its  use." 

Helen  turned  to  her  piano  completely  silenced. 
Mrs.  Burton's  will  was  law  in  that  household,  and 
never  had  she  spoken  so  earnestly  on  any  subject 
of  the  kind  before. 


CHAPTER  III. 


OU  have  not  yet  explained  your  con- 
nection with  the  sick  cat  which  your 
street  maid  was  seen  carrying  last 
week,"  remarked   Mrs.  Burton,  as 


though  to  change  the  subject  and  neutralize  any  ex- 
pression of  undue  sentiment  which  may  have  escaped 
her. 

"  I  found  the  poor  creature  suffering  terribly," 
answered  Laura.  64  Some  fiendish  person  had 
thrown  boiling  water  on  it,  scalding  it  nearly  to 
death.  I  found  it  lying  on  the  pavement  and  I 
sent  the  woman  to  a  drug  store  for  some  linseed  oil 
and  lime  water,  hoping  that  its  application  to  the 
wounds  would  ease  the  pain  until  it  could  be  merci- 
fully killed.  All  that  might  disgrace  me  in  the  eyes 
of  such  people  as  Mrs.  Victor  Hemmingway ;  but 
there  are  people  —  grand,  noble,  broad-minded 
people — who  would  not  consider  me  disgraced,  and 
who  under  similar  circumstances  would  do  the  very 
same  themselves." 

"Never  mind  moralizing,"  said  Mrs.  Burton 
coldly.  "  There  is  another  matter  I  wish  explained. 
I  was  in  your  dressing-room  to-day,  and  made  a 
discovery.  On  your  table  was  a  bottle  supposed  to 
contain  wood  violet,  but  to  my  horror  I  observed 


22        Sonne  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred. 


that  it  was  labeled  'chloroform.'  Think  of  it! 
Chloroform — poison  !  on  a  young  lady's  dressing- 
table.    Have  you  any  defense  for  that?  " 

"I  have,"  was  the  calm  reply.  "  I  bought  it 
only  yesterday  for  a  woman  who  is  actively  engaged 
in  a  humane  cause." 

"  Killing  cats  for  a  living,  I  suppose,"  and  Mrs. 
Burton's  manner  plainly  showed  disgust,  but  Laura 
was  perfectly  composed. 

Helen  raised  her  hands  in  dismay.  "I  do  hope," 
she  exclaimed,  "  that  you  would  not  be  guilty  of 
anything  so  shocking." 

"Not  under  ordinary  circumstances  certain]}-," 
Laura  answered. 

"I  would  not  do  it  under  any  circumstances," 
returned  Helen,  "  it  is  too  degrading." 

"  It  cannot  be  your  sympathy  that  would  prevent 
you,"  replied  Laura.  "Would  you  permit  an  inno- 
cent animal  to  suffer  for  fear  it  would  '  degrade ' 
you  to  humanely  put  it  out  of  the  way?" 

Helen  made  no  answer. 

"Whatlogic  !  What  a  world  of  prejudice  we  live  in  !" 
remarked  Laura.  "Good  deeds  never  degrade  anyone. 
Mother  asks  why  you  never  interest  yourself  in  these 
things.  I  can  tell  her  why.  It  is  because  you  are  not 
interested  in  anything  which  does  not  please  you  ;  un- 
pleasant things  you  avoid.  You  are  indifferent  to  the 
misery  around  you  because  it  would  '  degrade '  you  to 
notice  it,  and  yet  you  respond  to  the  cry  of  the  heathen 
ten  thousand  miles  away.  That  is  the  kind  of  gener- 
osity, Helen,  which  you  sometimes  indulge  in." 


So m e  of  New  York's  Fo u r  Hu  n  dred .  23 


"I  have  heard  quite  enough  lecture,"  replied 
Helen,  turning  to  her  piano.  "  I  find  this  opera  far 
more  interesting,  so  please  excuse  me." 

"Come,  Lillian,"  said  Laura,  rising  ;  "  it  is  time 
you  were  in  bed." 

"  Be  seated  a  moment,"  said  Mrs.  Burton,  "I 
wish  to  ask  what  inducement  draws  you  to  that 
chapel  so  often  of  late  ?  " 

Laura  could  have  answered:  "My  home  is  un- 
pleasant ;  I  find  no  sympathy,  no  congeniality  here.t 
On  no  subject  do  we  agree.  The  chapel  is  restful, 
its  influence  pleasing."  But  she  merely  said  :  ''The 
Reverend  Mr.  Haviland  is  delivering  a  course  of 
lectures  there  which  are  very  interesting.  But  if 
you  disapprove — " 

"O  no,  I  don't  disapprove,"  interrupted  Mrs. 
Burton  in  an  injured  tone.  "Go  if  }-ou  like.  This 
is  the  Lenten  season  ;  there's  nothing  going  on,  and 
you  might  as  well  be  at  the  chapel  as  here." 

Mrs.  Burton,  cold  and  unresponsive,  was  incapa- 
ble of  awakening  in  her  children  that  affection  which 
many  parents  possess.  As  a  fine-looking  woman, 
cultured  and  somewhat  gifted,  they  admired  her; 
as  their  mother  they  obeyed  her,  but  there  was  a 
total  lack  of  loving  confidence  between  them. 

Their  education  had  been  carefully  accomplished, 
and  their  knowledge  of  the  world  acquired  by  their 
mother's  social  position  and  their  frequent  trips 
abroad.  Mrs.  Burton's  villa  at  Newport  was  a  cen- 
tre of  social  triumphs  for  Miss  Helen,  whose  ambi- 
tions were  unlimited  ;  while  her  sister  Laura,  more 


24        Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred. 


thoughtful,  less  frivolous,  surrounded  herself  with 
a  circle  of  charming  friends  whose  admiration  for 
her  was  sincere.  Among  the  prominent  members  of 
her  set  was  a  Mrs.  Archibald  Vernoyse,  an  elderly 
lady  of  great  wealth,  who  understood  Laura's  ex- 
ceptional disposition  and  admired  her  accordingly. 
Being  one  of  Mrs.  Burton's  most  intimate  acquain- 
tances she  knew  something  of  the  unpleasant  fea- 
tures of  Laura's  home-life,  and  many  times  in  strict 
confidence  she  had  told  Laura  not  to  hesitate  to  let 
her  know  if  she  could  be  of  any  service,  and  in  a 
material  way  prove  her  friendship. 

A  few  days  after  the  discussion  just  recorded,  Ed- 
mund and  Helen  received  their  usual  quarterly  allow- 
ance, while  Laura  was  cut  off  with  an  amount  only  suffi- 
cient for  glove  money  and  stationery.  The  fact  stag- 
gered her.  She  had  believed  until  the  last  moment  that 
her  mother  would  relent  and  not  carry  out  her  threat. 

A  gleam  of  indignation  came  to  her  eyes.  She 
could  not  submit  without  protest  to  this  arbitrary 
act.  ''Mother,"  she  said  imploringly,  "if  my 
father  were  living  this  would  never  occur.  He  knew 
my  sympathies  were  with  the  unfortunate,  with  the 
deserving  poor,  and  with  defenceless  animals.  He 
never  reproved  me  for  even  an  impulsive  act  in  their 
behalf,  but  always  encouraged  in  me  that  of  which 
you  disapprove.  Could  he  have  looked  ahead  he 
would  have  done  very  differently  from  what  he  did. 
He  left  you  in  absolute  control  of  everything,  and 
financially  speaking  you  can  do  with  me  as  you  see 
fit ;  but  have  I  no  moral  rights  ?    Must  I — " 


Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred. 


•25 


"Do  you  realize  to  whom  you  are  speaking, 
Laura?  How  dare  you  criticise  your  father's  ac- 
tions ?  " 

"I  don't  criticise  my  father's  actions,"  replied 
Laura.  "  I  loved  him  dearly  and  he  loved  me,  and 
if  he  could  only  speak  now,  I  am  sure  he  would  beg 
you  to  be  less  severe." 

" 1  wish  you  to  understand,"  retorted  Mrs.  Bur- 
ton, "  that  your  father  would  not  approve  of  your 
acting  in  opposition  to  my  wishes,  and  I  shall  exer- 
cise my  authority  as  long  as  you  dwell  beneath  my 
roof." 

Edmund  smiled.  Mrs.  Burton's  children  well 
knew  there  was  no  hope  of  any  one  of  them  ever 
leaving  the  maternal  roof  unless  in  open  defiance  to 
her  wishes.  Although  cold  and  unresponsive  she 
was  peculiarly  opposed  to  their  separating  from  her, 
and  schemes  of  a  matrimonial  nature  were  never  for 
one  moment  entertained. 

"Mother,"  replied  Laura,  "I  do  not  wilfully 
displease  you.  I  admit  having  done  things  of  which 
you  disapprove,  but  wlfich  my  father  would  have 
commended."  A  sudden  passion  came  to  her  voice. 
1 '  I  have  also  done  things  which  you  must  com- 
mend," she  said.  "You  permitted  poor  old  Rod- 
ney, father's  favorite  horse,  to  be  sold  at  public 
auction,  because  he  had  grown  old  and  was  no 
longer  admired.  I  traced  him  after  the  sale  into 
the  hands  of  a  brutal  cab-driver  and  found  him  at 
his  stand  in  Park  Avenue,  jaded  and  half-starved, 
standing  in  the  burning  sun.     The  old  fellow  knew 


26        Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred. 

me  when  I  spoke  to  him  and  actually  whinnied  with 
joy.  The  thought  of  the  faithful  creature  having  to 
end  his  days  in  such  a  manner,  like  poor  4  Gin- 
ger' in  '  Black  Beauty,'  was  not  to  be  tolerated, 
and  I  bought  him  of  the  cabman  by  paying  ten  dol- 
lars more  than  what  he  gave  for  him." 

Mrs.  Burton  had  no  defense.  She  well  knew  that 
her  daughter's  act  would  have  met  her  hus- 
band's sanction ;  she  therefore  maintained  a  rigid 
silence.  Edmund,  however,  showed  some  interest 
in  the  matter  by  asking  where  Rodney  was. 

44  He  is  in  a  suburban  town  not  far  away,"  re- 
plied Laura,  44  owned  by  a  gentle  old  lady  who 
takes  a  short  drive  with  him  every  pleasant  day. 
She  loves  him  dearly  and  will  keep  him  until  he  dies 
a  natural  death." 

44 1  say,  Laura,  that  was  very  clever  of  you, 
don't  you  know,"  returned  Edmund.  44  To  tell  the 
truth  I'm  awfully  glad  to  hear  it.  I've  often  won- 
dered what  became  of  old  Rod.  "Why  didn't  you 
let  us  know  about  him  before  ?  " 

44 1  was  not  aware  that  his  fate  would  interest 
you,"  replied  Laura.  44  You  certainly  did  not  ob- 
ject to  his  being  sold,  and  since  the  new  span  came 
you  have  never  mentioned  him." 

44  The  new  span  are  fine  as  silk." 

44  Yes,  and  so  was  Rodney  once.  You  admire 
the  new  ones  now,  and  are  proud  of  them ;  but  the 
time  may  come  when  they  will  be  less  valuable. 
Will  your  present  feelings  serve  tbem  when  they 
need  sympathy  rather  than  admiration?" 


Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred.  27 


Edmund  made  an  evasive  reply.  By  nature  he 
was  quite  unlike  his  sister  Helen,  and  under  proper 
traiuing  many  noble  qualities  might  have  been  de- 
veloped ;  but  they  remained  dormant.  He  saw  only 
one  side  of  life,  was  taught  to  shun  the  other ;  and 
not  possessing  that  force  of  character  or  originality 
of  thought  of  his  sister  Laura,  to  see,  to  think,  to 
act  for  himself,  he  readily  yielded  to  the  influences 
around  him. 

Laura  made  one  more  appeal  to  her  mother, 
44  Will  you  not  relent,"  she  pleaded,  44  knowing  as 
you  do  how  important  my  allowance  is  to  me  ?  " 

Mrs.  Burton  sat  gazing  into  the  fire  but  made  no 
answer. 

"  Mother,"  she  exclaimed  in  sudden  desperation, 
44  you  are  unjust  to  me  because  of  a  mere  prejudice 
— a  prejudice  which  is  unworthy  of  you,  and  which 
in  the  name  of  the  unfortunate,  whether,  human  or 
animal,  should  not  exist." 

Finally  Mrs.  Burton  spoke.  44 1  do  not  censure 
you  for  your  action  in  the  case  of  Rodney,"  she 
said  ;  44  but  there  are  no  more  4  Rodneys  '  to  inter- 
est you  at  present,  and  should  there  be,  you  will 
kindly  refer  to  me  instead  of  assuming  the  responsi- 
bility yourself." 

4 4 And  my  allowance,  mother,  will  you  give  me 
that  as  usual?" 

4  4No,  I  shall  not.   You  already  have  my  decision." 

Laura  turned  away  ;  further  argument  was  useless. 
Her  proteges  must  exist  as  best  they  could  until  she 
devised  other  means  for  their  relief. 


28        Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred. 

"Auntie  dear,"  said  Lillian  when  they  were  alone, 
"do  you  not  love  our  beautiful  horses?" 

"Certainly,  child;  but  they  are  treated  like 
princes  and  are  in  no  need  of  sympathy.  But  the 
poor  creatures  so  often  seen  on  the  streets,  heavily 
laden  and  at  the  mercy  of  cruel  drivers,  over- 
worked, ill-fed  and  neglected,  are  enough  to  arouse 
the  sympathy  of  any  one  not  utterly  heartless. 
Every  one  of  those  horses  has  a  history,  and  too 
often  a  sad  one.  4  Black  Beauty '  told  his  and  pub- 
lished it  broadcast,  doing  worlds  of  good." 

"Why  don't  all  horses  have  their  history  pub- 
lished too,  auntie  Laura  ?  " 

"All  horses  are  not  so  wise  or  so  fortunate  as 
'  Black  Beauty,'  but  as  his  story  includes  the  his- 
tory of  several  others,  a  person  has  only  to  read  it 
to  obtain  a  pretty  fair  insight  into  horse  life,  with 
its  trials  ai*l  its  pleasures.  Every  one  should  read 
it,  particularly  the  boys  and  girls  who  will  be  the 
men  and  women  of  the  near  future." 


CHAPTER  IV. 

X  Easter  Sunday,  amid  the  throng  of 
fashionable  worshippers  who  emerged 
from  an  aristocratic  up -town  church, 
was  the  Burton  family,  including  Miss 
Lillian  Chester. 

A  long  line  of  well  appointed  equipages  lined 
the  street  in  front  of  the  church,  extending  nearly  a 
block  on  either  side.  A  close  observer  would  have 
readily  detected  the  restless  manner  of  most  of  the 
horses  attached  to  those  various  equipages. 

Their  heads  were  forced  back  and  held  in  an  un- 
natural and  cruel  position ;  many  were  foaming  at 
the  mouth,  and  only  a  few  of  them  had  been  spared 
the  mutilation  of  their  tails. 

Laura  Burton  had  seen  all  this  many  times  be- 
fore, but  the  recent  conversations  with  her  mother, 
together  with  her  unfortunate  financial  condition, 
while  her  actions  were  curtailed,  only  caused  her 
sentiments  to  find  expression  in  words  which  other- 
wise would  have  remained  unuttered.  As  it  was, 
the  cruel  customs  prevalent  in  the  best  society  were 
often  the  subject  of  her  adverse  and  penetrating 
criticism. 

4 'Look  at  those  magnificent  greys  just  ahead  of 

29 


30        Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred. 


us,"  she  said  in  a  low  tone  while  stepping  into  the 
carriage. 

"  What  about  them?  "  inquired  Helen. 

"  See  their  heads  ;  look  at  their  foaming  mouths 
and  their  docked  tails.  These  people  have  just 
listened  to  a  sermon,  on  the  resurrection  of  Christ, 
and  His  gentle  kindness  ;  they  pretend  to  believe  in 
His  teachings.  Can  they  for  one  moment  imagine 
the  gentle,  loving  Christ  approving  of  such  unkind- 
ness,  unnecessary  and  cruel,  and  all  for  the  purpose 
of  gratif3Ting  a  personal  vanity,  or  because  of  a 
fashionable  fad?  People  who  commit,  or  cause  to 
be  committed  such  wanton  cruelty  and  call  them- 
selves Christians,  are  they  not  hypocrites?" 

"  Please  be  a  little  moderate  in  your  language," 
suggested  Mrs.  Burton. 

To  do  Mrs.  Burton  justice  it  may  be  stated  that 
her  own  horses  were  neither  docked  nor  high 
checked.  Mr.  Burton,  when  living,  had  strenuously 
objected  to  both  practices  as  not  to  be  tolerated 
among  humane  people,  and  his  wife  had  sufficient 
regard  for  the  memory  of  the  man  who  had  left  her 
his  millions  without  reserve,  to  carry  out  his  wishes 
in  the  matter.  In  all  other  respects,  however,  Mrs. 
Norman  Burton  was  extremely  fashionable.  Her 
charities  also  were  munificent ;  at  least  her  name 
was  prominent  as  patroness  of  several  well-known 
charitable  institutions.  Her  pew  in  church  was  one 
of  the  highest  priced,  and  her  contributions  to 
church  work,  particularly  among  the  foreign  mis- 
sions, were  generous  and  frequent,  for  which  she — 


Some  of  Neio  York's  Four  Hundred.  31 


like  too  many  others — considered  herself  a  very 
righteous  woman,  and  hoped  that  her  place  in  heaven 
was  secured.  But  there  her  charities  and  obligations 
ended,  and  her  conscience  was  serenely  calm. 

"Laura,"  said  Helen  during  the  homeward  drive, 
" 1  think  it  very  unbecoming  of  you  to  be  so  pro- 
nounced in  your  opinions,  and  to  criticise  other 
people  as  severely  as  you  do.  Why  not  let  them 
do  with  their  horses  as  they  please — it's  their  affair, 
not  yours." 

"Aunt  Helen,"  spoke  up  Lillian,  "  I  remember 
once  you  put  on  a  new  dress,  and  the  collar  was  too 
high  or  too  stiff,  and  you  made  a  great  fuss  because 
it  felt  so  uncomfortable,  and  you  wouldn't  wear  it. 
So  just  think,  please,  of  those  poor  horses  with 
their  heads  and  necks  held  so  high  and  stiff,  and 
they  have  to  draw  a  load  besides,  and  run  as  fast  as 
they  can  go." 

Lillian's  well-directed  comparison  evidently  was 
lost  on  Helen,  who,  ignoring  her  remark,  changed 
the  subject  to  converse  with  her  mother. 

A  few  days  later  on  leaving  the  luncheon  table, 
Mrs.  Burton  ordered  her  carriage  to  be  in  readiness 
at  three  o'clock. 

"We  must  call  on  Mrs.  Almon  Harding,"  she 
explained  to  her  daughters.  "To-day  is  her  1  at 
home,'  and  Madeline  and  Isabel  are  soon  going  to 
Germany  with  their  aunt,  and  I  wish  to  call  before 
they  go." 

At  the  appointed  hour  Laura,  with  a  little  smile 
of  triumph,  presented  herself  at  her  mother's  room 


32        Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred. 


for  inspection.  Mrs.  Burton  gave  her  a  rapid 
glance,  then  raised  her  hands  in  dismay. 

"Laura  Burton  !"  she  exclaimed  ;  "  what  do  you 
mean  by  wearing  such  disreputable  gloves?  " 

"  I  upturned  a  drawer  full,"  replied  Laura,  "and 
these  were  the  choice." 

Mrs.  Burton  looked  incredulous. 

"Positively,"  continued  Laura,  "I  have  not  a 
single  pair  which  have  not  been  worn.  I  have  sev- 
eral pairs  which  have  been  worn  only  once,  and  are 
but  slightly  soiled  ;  but  they  would  not  match  this 
gown j  and  this  is  the  one  you  requested  me  to 
wear." 

"Why  is  Zoa  so  lax? — why  has  she  permitted 
things  to  come  to  such  a  pass  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Burton. 

"  Zoa  is  not  responsible.  I  am  looking  after  the 
glove  department  of  my  wardrobe  myself,"  replied 
Laura. 

"  Evidently,  judging  from  the  result,"  observed 
Helen,  who  at  that  moment  sailed  in,  faultlessly  at- 
tired. 

"  I  wish  you  would  follow  your  sister's  example," 
said  Mrs.  Burton.  "  It  would  save  me  a  world  of 
annoyance." 

"  Helen  has  nothing  to  do  except  look  after  her 
personal  appearance,"  returned  Laura. 

"And  what  have  you  to  do  except  look  after 
yours  ?  "  asked  Helen. 

"Many  things,"  was  the  reply.  "Dress,  and 
dress  alone,  can  never  be  an  all-absorbing  thought 
with  me." 


Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred.  33 


"  You  will  please  attend  to  the  question  in  hand," 
said  Mrs.  Burton  imperiously.  "  On  the  first  of 
the  month  I  gave  you  a  liberal  supply  of  glove 
money,  and  yet  you  have  not  an  unworn  pair. 
What  does  it  mean  ?  " 

"  Simply  that  before  I  knew  yon  were  going  to 
deprive  me  of  my  allowance  I  had  promised  assist- 
ance to  several  worthy  persons,  and  the  keeping  of 
that  promise  took  every  dollar ;  consequently  I  had 
nothing  to  buy  gloves  with." 

Mrs.  Burton  deigned  no  reply,  but  led  the  way  to 
her  carriage. 

"  Thompson,"  she  said,  addressing  the  coachman, 

"drive  to  number    Broadway  as  quickly  as 

possible." 

The  address  given  was  that  of  a  well-known  glove 
establishment,  where  Mrs.  Burton  alighted.  "What 
number  do  you  wear,  Laura?"  she  asked  coldly. 

"  Five  and  three-quarters." 

Mrs.  Burton  entered  the  shop  and  returned  with 
a  package  which  she  handed  her.  "  Never  again," 
she  said  severely,  "let  me  find  you  without  a 
fresh  supply,  or  in  future  I  shall  withhold  even 
your  glove  money  and  buy  whatever  you  require 
myself." 

As  they  drove  away  Laura  opened  the  package, 
and  from  a  dozen  pairs  selected  one  for  immediate 
use  and  proceeded  to  draw  them  on. 

"Thirty-six  dollars  for  gloves,"  she  thought  bit. 
terly,  "and  Mrs.  Alden  last  night  had  no  money  to 
buy  food,  and  Nero  her  dog  was  hungry,  and  she 


34        Some  of  Netv  York's  Four  Hundred. 

in  despair  over  the  probability  of  having  to  part 
with  him." 

Early  in  May  the  Burtons  left  the  city  to  oc- 
cupy their  country  residence  on  the  Hudson,  which 
was  within  easy  access  of  New  York.  The  place, 
was  a  charming  one  and  had  belonged  to  the 
Burton  family  for  years.  Helen  was  dis- 
pleased with  the  arrangement ;  she  preferred 
going  abroad,  or  to  their  Newport  house.  But 
Mrs.  Burton  decided  on  her  estate  called  "Wild- 
wood." 

41  It  will  be  insufferably  dull  here,"  grumbled 
Helen  the  week  after  they  arrived.  "  I  could  pass 
a  month  very  pleasantly ;  but  a  whole  summer  in 
such  isolation  seems  out  of  the  question." 

"We  have  nice  neighbors,"  said  Lillian,  "and 
we  can  get  acquainted  with  them." 

' '  What  do  you  know  about  our  neighbors  ? 99 
asked  Helen. 

"I  know  a  lot  about  them,  because  I've  seen 
them  ;  at  least  I've  seen  Mr.  Cornell.  Bartlett  took 
me  there  and  she  says  he's  very  rich,  and  I  guess  he 
is  because  he  lives  in  a  grand  house.  And  Bartlett 
said  he  would  be  a  great  '  catch '  for  somebody.  I 
asked  what  that  meant,  but  she  wouldn't  tell.  What 
does  it  mean,  grandma?  " 

"I  suppose  Bartlett  meant  that  Mr.  Cornell  was 
a  very  eligible  man  and  would  be  a  desirable  hus- 
band. But  she  should  not  .speak  of  such  things  to 
you  ;  it  is  very  improper." 

Helen  had  suddenly  become  interested.     "  Very 


Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred.  35 

likely  Mr.  Cornell  is  already  married,"  she  said. 
4 'Have  you  been  there,  Lillian?" 

"I've  been  in  the  grounds,  but  I  never  went  into 
the  house.  Sophie — she's  the  girl  Bartlett  went  to 
see — came  outside  and  talked  to  us,  and  she  brought 
me  oranges  and  almonds  and  cakes,  and  she's  a  very 
nice  girl." 

44  Your  idea  of  '  nice  '  is  evidently  gauged  by 
your  stomach,"  said  Helen.  44  But  tell  me,  did  you 
see  any  of  the  ladies  of  the  house  or  anyone  who 
might  be  Mrs.  Cornell?" 

44  No,  I  didn't  see  any  ladies  at  all.  I  only  saw 
the  servants,  Sophie  and  Katie  and  Lizzie,  and  a 
big  fat  woman  they  called  Smithers.  And  I  saw 
Peter  and  a  boy  called  Joe,  but  I  didn't  saw — I 
mean  I  didn't  see  any  Mrs.  Cornell,  nor  hear  about 
her,  and  I  guess  there  isn't  any." 

"  Who  is  Joe,  and  who  is  Peter?"  asked  Laura, 
entering  the  room. 

"They  are  Mr.  Cornell's  servants,"  replied  Lil- 
lian, 44  and  Mr.  Cornell  lives  in  that  big  house  with 
the  park  around  it  over  there.  I  went  to  it  with 
Bartlett,  and  had  a  lovely  time,  and,  O  yes,  I  forgot, 
Mr.  Cornell  has  a  stable  full  of  horses,  and  a  lot  of 
dogs,  big  shaggy  ones,  and  he  has  tame  rabbits, 
and  two  lovely  cats,  and  a  beautiful  stag  with  long 
horns,  and  one  without  horns." 

44 Did  you  see  Mr.  Cornell?"  asked  Helen. 

44  Yes,  I  saw  him  and  he  spoke  to  me  and  asked 
my  name  and  where  I  lived,  and  he  asked  me  to 
come  again.    He  is  a  very  nice  man,  only  he  is  too 


36        Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred. 


old.  His  hair  is  as  white  as  snow  and  it  stands  up 
straight  all  over  his  head  like  bristles,  only  it's  real 
short." 

"Quite  a  description  of  a  pompadour,"  said 
Laura,  laughingty. 

Helen  returned  to  her  needle-work, — her  interest 
in  Mr.  Cornell  was  short-lived.  An  old  man  of 
Lillian's  description  was  not  her  ideal,  nor  worth 
becoming  interested  in. 

Early  one  evening  Lillian  sought  her  aunt  Laura 
in  a  state  of  great  excitement.  "  O  auntie  !  "  she 
exclaimed,  "I  almost  hate  uncle  Edmund!  Do 
come  and  see  what  he  has  done." 

Following  the  child  to  the  rear  garden  she  found 
her  brother  in  hunting  costume  admiring  a  string  of 
bright  colored  birds  which  he  had  shot. 

"O  Edmund  !"  she  exclaimed  impulsively.  "How 
could  you  be  so  cruel?  Song  birds,  too,  and  killed 
for  mere  sport." 

"  Why,  they're  regular  beauties,  Laura;  never 
saw  a  finer  shooting — begin  to  think  I'm  a  crack 
shot — brought  down  one  every  time." 

"And  that  is  all  it  signifies  to  you,"  returned  his 
sister.  "How  cruel  you  sportsmen  are!  What 
savage  traits  you  still  possess  !  How  the  savage 
instincts  within  you  still  thirst  foi  jlood  and  seek 
something  to  kill !  " 

"  I  say,  Laura,  you're  too  hard  on  a  fellow.  To- 
day's shooting  has  given  me  quite  a  little  uneasi- 
ness." 

"In  what  way?  " 


Some  of  yew  York's  Four  Hundred.  37 

"Well,  I  tried  towing  a  robin,  but  only  succeeded 
m  wounding  it  and  it  got  away.  To  tell  the  truth 
I  felt  really  sorry  for  the  little  thing,  don't  you 
know,  and  tried  to  find  it  in  order  to  finish  the  job, 
but  couldn't." 

"And  so  that  suffering  bird  is  left  to  die  like 
that !"  exclaimed  Laura.  "And  now  it  is  dark,  and 
nothing  can  be  done.  I  should  think,  Edmund," 
she  proceeded  with  flashing  eyes,  "that  if  you 
have  one  spark  of  humanity,  this  would  be  a  lesson 
to  you  for  life." 

Early  the  next  morning,  unknown  to  any  one, 
Laura  went  to  the  place  where  Edmund  had  shot  the 
robin,  and  soon  saw  one  fluttering  about  on  the 
ground  in  evident  excitement  and  distress,  while 
from  a  tree  came  the  faint  chirrup  of  young  birds. 
She  quickly  captured  the  old  bird  and  discovered 
that  one  of  its  wings  was  broken,  and  covered  with 
blood. 

"  You  poor  thing,"  she  exclaimed,  "left  to  die 
where  you  can  hear  the  despairing  cry  of  your  young 
and  are  unable  to  reach  them  !  " 

She  saw  the  nest  but  it  was  beyond  her  reach. 
For  a  moment  she  stood  irresolute,  then  hurriedly 
turned  toward  home  intending  to  bring  help.  But 
just  then  something  opportune  occurred,  saving  her 
the  trouble.  From  through  the  wood  a  large  dog 
came  bounding  toward  her.  On  seeing  Laura  he 
paused  in  surprise.  His  face  was  kindly,  and  she 
spoke  to  him,  whereupon  he  wagged  his  tail  in 
friendly  greeting,  and  came  up  to  her. 


38         Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred. 


The  next  moment  a  gentleman  emerged  from  the 
wood,  closely  followed  by  another  dog.  Dog  num- 
ber two,  without  any  ceremony  ran  up  to  dog  num- 
ber one,  and  in  that  manner  drew  his  master's  at- 
tention to  the  fact  that  a  lady  stood  there.  He  was 
a  rather  handsome  man  of  some  twenty-seven  years, 
with  brown  hair  and  mustache,  and  dark-blue  eyes 
whose  expression  was  frank,  kindly  and  generous. 
Nevertheless,  as  Laura  looked  at  him  she  became 
indignant,  for  he  carried  a  gun.  Perhaps  he  then, 
and  not  Edmund,  was  the  guilty  person. 

He  saw  her  patting  his  favorite's  head,  politely 
raised  his  cap  and  turned  to  pass  on.  But  Laura  un- 
hesitatingly asked  if  he  would  assist  her  a  moment. 

"Certainly,  with  pleasure,"  he  replied.  "Only 
command  me." 

"  Some  one  has  fatally  wounded  this  robin,"  she 
said,  "and  its  young  are  left  in  their  nest  to 
starve.  If  you  can  devise  some  means  to  reach 
them  I  shall  esteem  it  a  great  favor." 

Her  tone  contained  an  indignant  ring,  which  to 
his  surprise  seemed  directed  at  him  personally. 
Soon  he  placed  the  nest  in  her  hands.  It  con- 
tained four  young  robins,  one  already  dead  the 
others  weak  and  dying. 

"  May  I  ask  what  you  intend  to  do  with  them?  " 

"Certainly;  I  intend  to  destroy  them,"  she  re- 
plied. 

"  Destroy  them?  "  he  repeated  incredulously. 
"Yes,  and  finish  in  a  merciful  manner  the  work 
that  some  gun  so  cruelly  began." 


Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred.  39 


' 4  Poor  thing,"  he  said  while  carefully  examining 
the  wounded  wing.  "It  is  indeed  a  brutal  act  to 
wound  a  nesting  bird." 

"Then  you  did  not  do  it?"  she  asked  impul- 
sively. 

"I?  no  indeed.  I  never  shot  a  bird  in  my  life." 
His  tone  was  convincing,  yet  she  involuntarily 
glanced  toward  the  guu  which  lay  upon  the  ground. 
He  understood  the  look,  understood  her  manner, 
and  hastened  to  convince  her  of  her  error. 

"That  gun  is  mine,  I  admit,"  he  said  ;  "but  if  it 
could  speak  it  would  tell  you  that  it  has  never 
taken  the  life  of  any  bird  except  an  occasional 
hawk  about  to  swoop  down  on  some  weaker  bird. 
I  have  no  inclination  to  destroy  the  life  of  either 
birds  or  animals." 

A  rapid  change  swept  over  Laura's  face,  and 
from  thinking  her  severe  and  imperious,  he  saw  her 
as  a  very  lovely  girl,  with  a  sweet  interesting  face 
and  a  most  charming  personality. 

"  Will  you  tell  me  how  you  intend  to  destroy 
those  birds  ?  "  he  asked  curiously. 

"  '  Destroy'  is  a  hard  term  to  use  in  connection 
with  them,"  she  replied.  "I  shall  simply  put  them 
to  sleep — a  sleep  so  deep  that  they  will  never 
awaken." 

"  Will  you  not  find  it  a  rather  grewsome  task?  " 

"Yes.  It  is  dreadful  —  dreadful  that  such 
things  must  be  done.  My  first  experience  was 
with  a  pet  canary  which  flew  into  the  gas  and  was 
severely  burned.    I  knew  that  nothing  could  save 


40        Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred. 


it,  and  yet  it  might  suffer  on  for  hours.  At  that 
time  I  had  never  taken  the  life  of  anything ;  the 
very  thought  was  revolting.  But  I  could  not  en- 
dure to  see  the  poor  bird  suffer,  nor  could  I  endure 
to  let  any  one  else  touch  it.  In  my  grief  and  des- 
peration I  secured  some  chloroform,  and  pouring  a 
few  drops  on  a  handkerchief  placed  it  in  the  cage 
close  beside  him.  He  did  not  even  struggle.  His 
breathing  simply  grew  fainter,  and  in  a  moment  his 
pain  was  over." 

"  You  certainly  pursued  a  merciful  course,"  said 
the  stranger.  "Not  every  one  would  have  the 
courage  to  do  so.  Many  times  really  kind-hearted 
people  permit  suffering  to  be  prolonged  indefinitely 
because  they  lack  the  courage  to  end  it." 

"I  thank  you,  sir,  very  kindly  for  your  assist- 
ance," said  Laura  turning  away.  "  I  assure  you  it 
was  a  real  favor." 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  have  been  of  service,"  he  re- 
turned politely,  "  but  if  I  can  be  of  no  further 
assistance  I  will  bid  you  good  morning."  He 
raised  his  cap  and  soon  disappeared  among  the 
trees. 

That  evening  in  the  seclusion  of  her  own  apart- 
ments, Laura's  mind  reverted  to  the  gentleman  of 
her  morning  adventure.  "I  wonder  who  he  is," 
she  thought,  "  and  where  he  lives,  and  if  I  were 
really  rude  to  him?    I  do  hope  I  was  not." 


CHAPTER  V. 


FTER  luncheon  the  next  day,  Lillian 
came  running  to  Laura,  her  face 
flushed  with  anger.  "Auntie,"  she 
cried,  "I  think  Mangin  is  the  mean- 
est chef  in  the  world,  and  I  wish  grandma  would 
get  another  and  let  him  go  this  very  day." 
"  What  has  Mangin  done  ?  "  asked  Laura. 
"  He's  done  lots,  and  he's  going  to  do  more,  and 
he's  going  to  tell  tales  about  me  to  grandma  and  to 
aunt  Helen.  I  don't  mind  his  telling  grandma  so 
much,  but  aunt  Helen  is  so  disagreeable  to  me  and 
scolds  so  much." 

"  Well,  what  is  it?  what  have  you  done?" 
"  You  know  we  had  broiled  lobster  for  luncheon," 
she  began  hesitatingly. 
"  Yes,  I  know." 

"But,  auntie,  did  you  know  that  Mangin  cooks 
the  lobsters  alive  ?  " 

There  was  no  answer. 

"  Did  you  know  it? "  persisted  the  child. 

"  No,  I  did  not.  I  have  never  given  the  matter 
a  thought  before." 

"Well  he  does.  He  puts  them  on  the  hot  broiler, 
and  it  is  just  awful  to  see  the  poor  things  squirm  and 
suffer  and  try  to  get  away  until  they're  dead.  I 


42         Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred. 

was  in  the  kitchen  once  before  when  he  was  cooking 
one,  so  I  made  up  my  mind  that  next  time  I'd 
fix  it.     So  he  promised  to  let  me  know,  but  he 
didn't  know  what  I  intended  to  do." 
"  Go  on — what  about  it?  " 

"  Well,  I  saw  you  chloroform  the  robins  and  it 
didn't  hurt  them  at  all,  so  I  thought  I'd  chloroform 
the  lobster.  I  wet  my  handkerchief  in  your  bottle 
of  chloroform  and  held  it  over  his  head  till  he  didn't 
move,  and  when  Mangin  put  him  on  the  griddle  he 
wondered  why  he  didn't  squirm.  After  luncheon  I 
told  him  what  I  had  done,  and  told  him  to  always 
let  me  know  when  we  were  to  have  lobster.  But  he 
was  awful  mad  and  called  me  a  meddlesome  child, 
and  told  me  to  never  come  near  the  kitchen  again. 
And  he  said  he  wouldn't  chloroform  the  lobsters, 
that  he'd  cook  them  alive,  and  while  he  was  talking 
he  burned  his  hand  on  the  range  and  you  ought  to 
have  seen  him  jump.  Then  he  poured  oil  over  it,  and 
had  Katie  tie  it  up.  I  asked  him  how  he  would  like 
to  be  put  on  a  hot  griddle  flat  on  his  back,  and  be 
burned  all  over  ?  and  he  said  he  would  tell  on  me 
and  ask  Miss  Wilson  to  not  let  me  out  of  the  school 
room  at  all,  and  —  well  I  guess  that's  all  he  said ; 
it's  enough  anyway." 

"  Don't  be  so  excited,"  said  Laura,  "  for  I  will 
see  that  your  rights  are  not  infringed  on." 

"I  most  knew  you  would  take  my  part,"  said 
Lillian,  giving  her  an  affectionate  hug,  "  and  now  I 
have  something  else  to  tell  you.  It's  about  pate  de 
foie  gras.    Miss  Wilson  read  to  me  out  of  a  paper 


Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred.  43 

that  it  is  made  in  Strasburg,  Germany.  They  make 
it  out  of  geese  livers,  and  they  want  the  livers  to 
grow  as  big  as  they  can.  So  they  put  the  poor 
geese  to  a  *  death-dance.'  " 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that? "  asked  Laura. 

"  I  can't  tell  it  as  well  as  the  paper  did,  but  they 
have  a  big  place  built  with  a  zinc  floor,  and  under 
the  floor  is  a  fire  just  hot  enough  to  keep  the  zinc 
hot,  and  then  the  geese  are  all  stood  on  it  in  little 
pens  so  close  together  that  they  can't  turn  around 
nor  move,  except  to  lift  up  their  feet,  and  the  floor 
is  so  hot  they  can't  stand  still,  and  so  they  first  raise 
one  foot  and  then  the  other ;  and  they  keep  that  up 
day  and  night.  They  feed  them  some  oily  kind  of 
food,  and  that  and  the  heat,  and  they  wedged  in  so 
tightly  that  they  can't  move  about,  makes  their 
livers  grow  very  large.  Then  they  kill  them  and 
make  pate  de  foie  gras  out  of  their  livers,  and  the 
paper  called  it  *  the  death-dance  of  the  geese.' " 

"  Horrible  !  "  exclaimed  Laura,  "  I  wonder  if  it 
be  true  ?  " 

"Yes  auntie,  it's  true.  Miss  Wilson  said  so. 
I'll  bring  you  the  paper  and  you  can  see  for  your- 
self." 

Away  she  ran  and  soon  returned  with  a  copy  of 
a  well-known  New  York  daily.  The  article  in  ques- 
tion related  in  substance  what  Lillian  had  told,  and 
claimed  to  be  authentic. 

' 4  What  a  grewsome  industry,"  thought  Laura. 
"  What  torture  those  poor  things  must  suffer  before 
they  are^finally  killed.    I  cannot  believe  these  facts 


44        Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred. 


are  generally  known.  If  they  were  it  seems  to  me 
such  an  industry  would  be  boycotted  until  those 
concerned  became  less  greedy,  and  would  use  the 
geese  as  nature  made  them  without  resorting  to  such 
diabolical  means  to  increase  their  profits." 


CHAPTER  VI. 


RS.  Burton   and   her   daughters  were 
lounging  on  the  piazza  one  afternoon 
when  Miss  Lillian  Chester,  just  return- 
ing from  a  walk  with  her  nurse,  ap- 
proached them  holding  out  a  box  of  candy. 

"Do  see  what  Mr.  Cornell  handed  me  through 
the  fence,"  she  cried,  "and  he  asked  me  why  I  didn't 
come  over  there  any  more.  And  the  other  man  who 
lives  there  asked  me,  too." 

"  What  did  you  tell  them?  "  inquired  Helen. 
"  I  told  them  you  wouldn't  let  me,  and  that  you 
said  if  I  went  there  too  often  he  might  set  the  dogs 
on  me." 

"You  are  a  very  malicious  child,"  said  Helen, 
"  and  in  future  you  keep  away  from  Mr.  Cornell's 
entirely." 

' '  I  am  not  a  malicious  child  —  I  only  told  the 
truth  ;  you  did  say  so,  and  I'll  be  glad  when  I  wear 
long  dresses,  as  you  do,  and  satin  corsets,  and  dotted 
veils  ;  then  I  can  go  where  I  please  and — " 

"  What  did  Mr.  Cornell  say  to  what  you  told 
him  ?  "  interrupted  Helen. 

"  He  said  you  evidently  were  not  acquainted  with 
your  nearest  neighbor,  and  the  other  man  said  so 
too." 

45 


46        Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred. 


44  Who  is  the  4  other  man? '  " 

"  I  don't  know — I  only  know  he's  a  man,  and  he 
lives  with  Mr.  Cornell." 

"A  groom,  perhaps,"  suggested  Helen. 

44  He's  not  a  groom,  he's  —  he's  —  he's  a  gentle- 
man ;  and  he's  nicer  than  Mr.  Cornell  himself,  and 
younger  too.  And  his  hair  isn't  white,  and  it  don't 
stick  up  straight  all  over  his  head  as  Mr.  Cornell's 
does." 

"I  learned  incidentally,"  said  Mrs.  Burton, 
44  that  the  Cornells  are  very  desirable  people  to 
know  and  it  might  be  well  to  cultivate  them,  partic- 
ularly for  summer  neighbors.  I  once  heard  Mrs. 
Vernoyse  speak  of  them  as  being  an  old  Bostonian 
family,  and  these  Cornells  are  the  same,  I  believe." 

44  It's  a  pity  they're  so  old,"  said  Helen.  4 'Mrs. 
Cornell,  providing  she  exists,  must  be  fifty  or  sixty, 
and  quite  uncompanionable  for  me." 

4'  I  asked  them  to  come  and  see  us,"  said  Lillian. 
44 1  thought  if  we  got  acquainted  with  them  you 
would  let  me  go  over  there  sometimes." 

4'And  whom  do  you  mean  by  4  them'?"  asked 
Helen.  44  Do  you  mean  Sophie  and  Peter,  and  all 
of  your  other  servant  acquaintances  at  4  Glen- 
moyne '  ?  " 

44  No,  I  do  not.  I  only  mean  Mr.  Cornell  and 
the  other  man,"  replied  Lillian  in  a  tone  of  offended 
dignity. 

After  school  hours  one  afternoon  the  following 
week,  Laura  took  her  precocious  niece  out  for  a  ram- 
ble in  a  shady  spot  a  mile  or  so  from  "Wildwood." 


Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred.  47 


They  each  gathered  a  bouquet  of  wild  flowers,  then 
sat  down  on  a  mossy  bank  to  rest.  Soon  Lillian 
uttered  an  exclamation  of  delight  and  bounded 
away.  The  next  moment  she  was  caressing  two 
large  dogs,  and  at  the  same  time  eagerly  chatting 
with  a  gentleman  whom  Laura  recognized  as  the 
one  of  her  robin  adventure.  Presently  they  came 
toward  her,  Lillian  leading  the  gentleman  by  the 
hand. 

"  O  auntie  Laura,"  she  cried ;  "here  is  the  '  other 
man,'  the  one  I  told  you  lives  at  Mr.  Cornell's 
house.  I  told  him  you  wanted  to  see  him,  so  here 
he  is." 

Laura  flushed ;  the  gentleman  advanced,  and 
politely  raised  his  cap. 

"  Pardon  me,"  he  said,  "  but  my  little  friend  here 
insisted  that  you  wished  to  see  me,  and — "  He 
suddenly  paused,  while  a  pleased  light  broke  over 
his  face.  "  It  is  indeed  an  unexpected  pleasure," 
he  added,  "to  discover  in  my  near  neighbor  the 
lady  of  the  robins." 

Laura  returned  his  greeting  friendlily,  then  has- 
tened to  assure  him  that  his  'little  friend'  had  taken 
an  unwarranted  liberty,  and  while  she  was  pleased  to 
see  him  again,  the  invitation  for  him  to  come  to  her 
was  issued  without  her  knowledge  or  consent. 

Lillian  hung  her  head  in  momentary  embarrass- 
ment, then  demurely  replied  : 

"But  auntie,  I  told  you  the  other  day  how  nice 
he  was,  and  how  good  to  me  ;  and  I  was  sure  you 
wanted  to  see  him,  and  so  I  told  him  you  did." 


48        Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred. 


They  both  laughed  ;  then  Laura  rather  facetious- 
ly remarked  :  "It  seems,  sir,  that  in  spite  of  your 
apparently  close  friendship,  Lillian  does  not  even 
yet  know  your  name,  for  she  always  speaks  of  you 
as  4  the  other  man.'  " 

44  Why,  my  name  is  Cornell,"  he  replied,  smiling. 

44  It  is  ?  "  asked  Lillian  in  surprise.  "And  is  the 
man  with  the  stiff  white  hair  your  father  ?  " 

44  O  no.  He  is  Major  Upton,  an  old  friend  of  my 
father,  and  being  excellent  company  I  have  invited 
him  to  spend  the  summer  with  me  at 4  Glenmoyne.'" 

"And  are  you  the  real  Mr.  Cornell?  "  continued 
Lillian,  44  the  man  who  owns  the  house,  and  the 
horses,  and  the  cats  and  dogs,  and  all  the  rest?" 

44  Yes,  I  am  the  real  Mr.  Cornell  of  4  Glen- 
moyne,'"  he  replied,  quite  amused  because  of  her 
earnest  surprise,  44  and  the  cats  and  dogs  and  4  all 
the  rest,'  as  you  express  it,  belong  to  me." 

44  Well,  I  don't  see  how  I  got  it  so  mixed  up,  but 
I  saw  the  white-haired  man  first,  and  I  was  sure  he 
was  Mr.  Cornell,  and  then  I  saw  you,  and  I  thought 
that  you  were  only — " 

4  4  4  The  other  man,'"  he iuterrupted,  good-humor- 
edly.  44  Some  visitor,  perhaps,  or  some  poor  rela- 
tion getting  a  free  summer  outing." 

44  My  aunt  Helen  said  perhaps  you  were  the 
groom,  and  she  said  most  likely  you  were  married. 
Are  you  ?  " 

44  Lillian,"  said  Laura  reprovingly,  44  your  aunt 
Helen  only  said  it  playfully  to  tease  you,  and  it's 
very  rude  of  you  to  repeat  it." 


Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred.  49 


"  I'll  not  do  so  again,"  the  child  returned  meek- 
ly. "  But  are  you? "  she  persisted,  addressing  Mr. 
Cornell. 

"  The  groom,  or  married,  which  do  you  meon?" 

" 1  know  you  are  not  the  groom,"  she  replied,  with 
a  worldly-wise  air,  "  but  perhaps  you  are  married." 

"  Do  you  prefer  me  married  or  unmarried  ?"  he 
asked  smilingly. 

"If  your  wife  is  as  nice  as  you  are,"  she  returned 
innocently,  "  then  I  hope  you  are  married.  But  if 
she  isn't,  and  wouldn't  like  me  to  come  there,  then 
I  hope  you're  not  married." 

"Very  well,"  he  answered  playfully,  "you  may 
come  to  '  Glenmoyne '  as  often  as  you  please  ;  there 
is  no  Mrs.  Cornell  to  like  or  dislike  your  coming." 

They  chatted  a  few  minutes,  then  Laura  reminded 
Lillian  that  it  was  time  to  go  home. 

"As  we  both  go  in  the  same  direction,"  said  Mr. 
Cornell,  "  I  shall  be  pleased  to  walk  with  you  if  I 
am  not  intruding." 

Assured  to  the  contrary,  they  proceeded  towards 
"Wildwood."  During  the  walk  they  became  quite 
well  acquainted ;  far  better  because  of  Lillian, 
whose  artless  chatter  would  permit  of  no  formality. 
On  reaching  the  entrance  Lillian  begged  Mr.  Cor- 
nell to  go  in  and  remain  to  dinner. 

"  Do  please  come,"  she  pleaded.  "There's  no 
one  home  except  grandma  and  auntie  Laura,  and 
grandma  promised  that  I  might  dine  with  them  to- 
night ;  and  it's  so  stupid,  you  know,  with  only  three 
at  the  table,  and  those  all  women." 


50        Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred. 


"What  a  compliment  to  your  grandma,  and  to 
Miss  Burton,"  he  said. 

"Why,  Lillian!"  exclaimed  Laura,  "I  never 
knew  you  thought  either  mother  or  me  stupid. 
Really,  you  have  not  offered  much  of  an  inducement 
for  Mr.  Cornell  to  come  in." 

Lillian  grew  scarlet.  "1  didn't  mean  it  that 
way,"  she  said  simply.  "  You  ask  him  to  come  in, 
auntie  Laura.  Most  likely  he'll  mind  you,  because 
you  are  grown  up,  and  wear  long  dresses,  and — " 

Laura  silenced  her  with  a  quick  look,  for  fear  she 
would  add  :  "  and  satin  corsets  and  dotted  veils." 

Having  no  alternative  Laura  said  frankly:  "You 
are  very  welcome,  Mr.  Cornell;  I  am  sure  my 
mother  would  be  pleased  to  know  you.  She  feels 
somewhat  isolated,  I  imagine,  this  season." 

Knowing  the  invitation  to  be  forced  he  politely 
declined,  pleading  Major  Upton  as  an  excuse. 

"  Then  come  some  other  time,"  chimed  in  Lillian, 
"  and  bring  Major  Upton  with  you.  I  think  he  is 
the  nicest  man  —  I  mean  the  nicest  old  man,"  she 
added  quickly,  "  that  I  ever  knew." 

Within  a  week  Mr.  Cornell  made  a  formal  call 
upon  Mrs.  Norman  Burton,  at  which  time  he  was 
informally  invited  with  Major  Upton  to  dinner  for 
Thursday  evening. 

When  the  day  came  Lillian  was  superlatively 
happy,  having  received  permission  from  Mrs.  Burton 
to  remain  up  that  evening  and  dine  with  the  others 
in  the  state  dining-room,  after  having  promised  to  be 
very  quiet,  and  to  not  speak  except  when  spoken  to. 


Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred.  hi 


The  dinner  was  progressing  very  satisfactorily ; 
Lillian,  whose  table  manners  were  quite  perfect,  was 
keeping  her  promise  most  faithfully.  Suddenly 
Major  Upton  asked  her  a  question.  She  turned  to 
Mrs.  Burton  and  smiling  sweetly  said  : 

' '  Grandma,  dear,  I'm  spoken  to ;  please  may  I 
speak  ?  " 

"  Certainly  ;  have  I  not  always  told  you  to  speak 
when  spoken  to  ?  " 

"But  grandma,  dear,  I  was  afraid  you  didn't 
hear  the  Major  speak  to  me,  and  would  think  I  was 
speaking  without  leave,  so  I  thought  I'd  let  you 
know." 

They  all  laughed,  and  from  that  time  on  Miss  Lil- 
lian was  not  compelled  to  suffer  the  hardship  of  keep- 
ing quiet,  for  both  the  Major  and  Mr.  Cornell  took 
special  pains  to  ask  her  questions  in  order  to  hear 
her  quaint  answers. 

During  the  evening  the  conversation  drifted  to  a 
remarkable  act  which  one  of  Mr.  Cornell's  saddle 
horses  was  fond  of  performing.  "  It  is  to  stand  up 
straight  on  his  hind  feet  and  walk  a  short  distance,'* 
said  Mr.  Cornell.  "He  once  attempted  the  trick 
when  I  was  on  his  back.  An  acquaintance  of  mine 
who  happened  to  be  near  took  a  snap  shot  at  us, 
and  I  am  often  amused  when  looking  at  my  undig- 
nified position  with  both  arms  clasped  around  the 
horse's  neck  and  clinging  on  for  dear  life." 

"I  hope  my  horse  will  never  do  that,"  said  Helen. 

"  You  ride,  do  you?"  asked  the  Major. 

'*  Yes,  almost  every  day.    My  sister  and  I  each 


52        Some  of  Neiv  York's  Four  Hundred. 


have  a  fine  saddle  horse.  We  are  fond  of  riding 
and  of  driving  as  well." 

"  You  are  fond  of  horses  then,  I  presume?  " 

"  0  yes  ;  I  admire  horses  very  much,  and  I  should 
feel  as  lost  without  Juno,  my  saddle  horse,  as 
mother  would  without  her  span." 

"Aunt  Helen  loves  beautiful  horses  that  can 
prance  and  show  off,"  said  Lillian,  quite  forgetting 
herself,  "but  auntie  Laura  loves  old  plugs  best." 

This  remark  caused  a  round  of  laughter,  in  which 
even  Helen  deigned  to  join. 

"What  do  you  know,  little  one,  about  'old 
plugs?'"  asked  Major  Upton,  greatly  amused. 

"  I  heard  Mangin — he's  the  chef — tell  Katie  that 
Mr.  Harding's  horses  were  getting  to  be  regular  old 
plugs,  and  I  asked  Mangin  what  plugs  was — " 

"  What  plugs  were,"  corrected  the  Major. 

"I  meant  'were,'"  proceeded  the  child  with 
cheeks  aglow,  "and  Mangin  said  plugs  were  old 
worn  out  horses,  and  those  are  the  kind  auntie 
Laura  likes  best." 

"  Lillian's  ideas  on  the  subject  are  somewhat  con- 
fused," said  Laura,  "  and  hardly  give  me  credit  for 
having  good  taste.  I  admire  beautiful  well-groomed 
horses  as  much  as  any  one,  but  the  poor  tired  work- 
ing ones  appeal  to  me  in  a  different  way.  And 
yet,"  she  continued  earnestly,  "  I  often  think  that 
in  many  instances  the  beautiful  high-strung  creatures 
are  as  deserving  of  consideration  as  those  that  are 
hard  worked." 

"  You  are  quite  right,  Miss  Burton,"  returned  the 


Some  of  Neio  York's  Four  Hundred. 


53 


Major.  "Any  horse  or  any  animal  at  the  mercy  of 
a  cruel  person,  man  or  woman,  rich  or  poor,  is  to 
be  pitied.  And  too  many  of  our  thorough-breds 
are  owned  by  cruel  people,  else  tight  check  reins 
and  docked  tails  would  not  be  in  such  abundant 
evidence." 

"Do  you  disapprove  of  check  reins?"  asked 
Helen. 

u  Of  tight  ones,  yes  ;  most  decidedly.  They  are 
not  only  cruel,  but  senseless.  A  horse  with  his 
head  forced  back  loses  a  good  part  of  his  power, 
and  to  drive  a  horse  up  hill  tightly  checked  is  an 
abominable  practice  and  is  indulged  in  only  by 
fools  or  by  people  ignorant  of  how  horses  should 
be  treated.  Pardon  my  strong  language,"  said  the 
old  warrior,  * 4  but  this  is  a  subject  on  which  I  get 
enthusiastic.  It  acts  on  me  like  the  roar  of  cannon 
away  back  in  the  sixties.  Never  will  I  forget  the 
grand  and  noble  horses  of  those  dark  days.  There 
were  heroes  among  them  as  well  as  among  the  men, 
and  many  a  daring  deed  was  made  possible  and 
done  with  the  assistance  of  a  horse  that  was  tried 
and  true.  And  yet,  in  the  great  crime  called  war, 
the  wants  of  the  wounded  horses  are  the  last  to  be 
attended  to.  There  is  no  hospital  for  them,  poor 
fellows.  When  they  fall  on  the  battle-field  their 
days  are  over,  either  by  the  bullet  or  by  the  tortures 
of  starvation  and  thirst.  Among  a  humane  and 
civilized  people  the  horse  should  be  a  sacred  animal, 
protected  against  all  cruelties  by  most  severe  laws, 
and  monuments  should  be  erected,  as  in  Japan,  to 


54        Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred. 

commemorate  their  noble  deeds.  No  wonder  I  ap- 
preciate and  am  fond  of  horses.  No  wonder  that 
when  I  see  a  man  driving  with  a  tight  check  I  feel 
like  checking  his  own  head  back  in  the  same  man- 
ner and  running  him  up  hill  and  down,  to  see  how 
long  he  would  stand  it.  Half  the  men  who  drive 
know  no  more  about  handling  a  horse  than  a 
steam  engine.  They  drive  as  rapidly  down  hill  as 
on  a  level,  which  is  very  injurious  to  a  horse.  He 
is  not  only  liable  to  stumble  and  break  a  leg,  but  to 
become  weak  in  the  knees.  Horses  should  not  be 
driven  rapidly  either  up  hill  or  down,  and  if  a  little 
more  consideration  were  shown  them  they  would 
last  much  longer  than  they  do." 

u  What  Major  Upton  says  is  quite  correct,"  said 
Mr.  Cornell.  "I  have  a  good  horse,  perfect  in 
every  respect,  and  far  better  than  many  horses  ten 
years  old,  and  he  is  twenty-five.  My  father  raised 
him  from  a  colt,  and  he  has  never  been  allowed  to 
trot  up  hill  or  down.  He  has  had  kind  treatment, 
of  course,  all  his  life,  and  is  good  for  a  number  of 
years  yet.  Many  people  abuse  horses  through 
ignorance,  others  because  they  are  abusive  by 
nature." 

44  People  who  purposely  abuse  animals,  horses 
or  even  swine,  are  cowards  !"  said  the  Major  em- 
phatically. ' '  Cowards  because  they  take  a  mean 
advantage  of  animals  simply  because  they  are  in 
their  power.  Those  people  may  be  rich,  may  live 
in  great  style,  but  there  is  something  lacking  in 
their  make-up.     There  are  many  sports  indulged 


Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred.  55 

in,"  continued  the  Major,  "  which  result  in  a  great 
deal  of  cruelty — pigeon  and  duck  shooting,  for  in- 
stance. Many  of  the  birds  shot  at  are  merely 
wounded,  perhaps  a  leg  or  a  wing  broken,  and  in  that 
condition  they  flutter  away  and  finally  die  of  starva- 
tion. And  yet  such  sports  are  too  often  indulged 
in  by  those  who  consider  themselves  cultured  and 
refined.  It  is  a  pity  that  among  rich  and  educated 
men  there  should  be  so  much  cruelty.  The  flutter  of 
the  wounded  pigeon,  the  sufferings  of  the  mutilated 
horse,  the  sacrifice  of  song-birds  to  bedeck  a  bon- 
net, the  barbaric  taste  that  calls  for  baby  Persian 
lamb,  are  enough  to  show  that  a  propaganda  of 
humane  education  among  the  rich  is  quite  as  neces- 
sary as  among  the  poor.  A  troop  of  red-coated 
hunters  chase  a  terrified  tame  fox  behind  a  pack  of 
hounds  and  boast  of  being  in  at  the  death,  while  a 
band  of  ragged  urchins  would  be  at  once  arrested  if 
found  chasing  a  stray  cat  in  similar  manner.  But 
the  rich  have  their  lawyers,  and  I  am  sorry  to  say 
their  newspapers,  to  defend  them,  and  make  it  al- 
most impossible  for  the  humane  societies  to  secure 
evidence  to  convict  them." 

"I  know  a  woman,"  said  Mr.  Cornell,  ' 'who  had 
her  horses  put  through  the  torture  of  being  docked, 
absolutely  indifferent  to  their  sufferings,  and  yet  I 
once  heard  her  scream  because  the  blood  came  from 
the  merest  scratch  on  her  finger  made  by  a  cambric 
needle." 

" 1  have  no  respect  for  such  a  person,  be  it  man 
or  woman,"  said  the  brusque  old  Major.    "  What 


56        Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred, 


cared  she  for  the  pain  inflicted  on  her  horses, 
or  their  future  discomfort  in  fly- time,  providing 
they  carried  her  about  and  contributed  to  her 
pleasure." 

"  That  woman  is  like  a  person  I  know  of,"  chimed 
in  Lillian,  involuntarily  glancing  towards  Helen, 
"who  likes  to  see  horses  with  their  heads  held  high 
up,  but  she  makes  a  great  fuss  if  her  dress  collar 
makes  her  hold  her  own  head  too  high." 

Miss  Helen  felt  very  uncomfortable  just  then,  as 
the  shrewd  old  Major  detected.  Laura  detected  it 
too,  and,  apparently  unheeding  Lillian's  remark, 
said  quickly : 

"I  know  of  a  man  who  has  recently  had  the 
ears  and  tails  of  his  dogs  cut,  and  yet  he  claims 
to  be  kind-hearted,  and  to  be  fond  of  those  same 
dogs." 

4 '  His  acts  prove  that  he  is  neither  one  nor  the 
other,"  responded  the  Major.  "He  is  only  fond  of 
himself,  and  of  gratifying  his  caprices  at  the  expense 
of  his  dogs." 

"  Major  Upton,"  said  Laura,  "  what  do  you  think 
of  people  who,  when  closing  their  houses  for  the 
season  to  go  out  of  town,  turn  their  cats  into  the 
street  to  live  from  ash-barrels  or  else  starve?" 

"I  think  such  people  are  inhuman,"  was  the 
reply.  "  Cats  as  a  rule  are  very  domestic  animals 
and  fond  of  home  ;  and  to  be  sent  adrift  in  that 
manner  is  the  height  of  cruelty.  If  the  owners  can- 
not provide  for  them  during  their  absence  they 
should  have  them  mercifully  destroyed." 


Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred.  57 

44  Some  people  would  not  care  to  move  a  cat," 
said  Helen,  4 4  because  of  the  old  superstition  about 
it  being  bad  luck." 

44  And  so  they  prefer  to  leave  their  bad  luck  to  the 
cat,"  said  Mr.  Cornell,  "which  perhaps  is  shut  in 
the  vacated  house  to  die  of  starvation  and  thirst. 
Well,  if  those  people  expect  good  luck  to  follow 
such  an  act,  their  superstition  and  ignorance  super- 
sede their  sense,  and  they  expect  what  they  don't 
deserve." 

44  What  would  you  think  of  a  man,  Major  Upton," 
asked  Lillian,  "  who  shot  a  lot  of  pretty  song-birds 
just  for  fun?" 

"I  wouldn't  think  much  of  him,"  returned  the 
Major,  44  either  as  a  man  or  a  law-abiding  citizen. 
It's  illegal  to  shoot  song-birds ;  besides,  the  mere 
wantonness  of  the  act  is  despicable." 

Edmund  felt  slightly  embarrassed  because  of 
Major  Upton's  unwitting  opinion  of  him,  but  made 
no  comment. 

4 '  There's  a  woman  on  Long  Island  who  shoots 
bull-frogs  justjfor  fun,"  continued  Lillian.  4 4 What 
do  you  think  of  her,  Major  Upton  ?" 

44  She  must  be  a  French  4  frog-eater,' "  he  re- 
turned, 44  and  eager  for  something  to  kill." 

Lillian  laughed  gleefully,  as  though  she  had 
achieved  a  triumph,  and  exclaimed  :  44  That  4  frog- 
eater'  is  a  great  friend  of  aunt  Helen's,  but  I'll  not 
tell  her  name." 

"  I  see  they  are  indulging  in  a  new,  or  rather  an 


58         Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred. 


old-time  sport  out  in  Chicago,"  remarked  Edmund, 
entering  the  conversation. 

"  What  is  it?"  asked  Mrs.  Burton. 

"  Chasing  a  greased  pig,"  he  replied.  "At  the 
dedication  of  the  new  home  of  the  '  Saddle  and  Cycle 
Club '  a  greased  pig  was  the  star  attraction  in  the 
way  of  amusement." 

Mrs.  Burton's  lip  curled  contemptuously.  "  An 
edifying  amusement  indeed,"  was  her  ironical  re- 
mark. 

"  And  one  that  a  lot  of  lunatics  might  enjoy," 
added  the  Major.  "  The  pigs  of  to-day,"  he  con- 
tinued, "must  be  slightly  different  from  those  of 
Bible  times.  Those  of  Biblical  lore  waited  until  the 
devils  took  possession  of  them  before  running  into 
the  sea  ;  this  pig  ran  into  Lake  Michigan  to  escape 
the  supposed  devils  who  were  after  him.  Well, 
there  are  different  grades  of  civilization  in  civilized 
communities,  and  the  club  that  would  tolerate  such 
a  thing  must  belong  to  a  rather  mediocre  grade." 

"I  quite  agree  with  you,  Major  Upton,"  said 
Mrs.  Burton.  "  It  seems  quite  impossible  for  peo- 
ple of  culture  to  be  amused  by  witnessing  such  a 
revolting  spectacle." 

"  Greasing  a  pig  isn't  as  bad  as  cutting  kittens  and 
rabbits  all  to  pieces  to  see  how  they're  made  inside," 
said  Lillian.  14  I  cut  one  of  my  dolls  in  two  once 
to  see  what  it  was  made  of,  but  it  couldn't  feel  it. 
But  I  wouldn't  cut  up  anything  alive." 

" 1  should  hope  not,"  responded  the  Major. 

"  Some  folks  do  though."  persisted  Lillian.  "Miss 


Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred.  59 

Wilson  said  so.  She  said  some  school  teachers  cut 
kittens  all  to  pieces  before  the  scholars  and  made 
the  scholars  help  to  desiccate  them — whatever  that 
is,  and — " 

"  Dissect  them,  you  mean,"  interrupted  Laura. 

"  Yes,  that's  it ;  and  Miss  Wilson  called  it  vivi — ■ 
vivi — vivi — something." 

"Vivisection,"  suggested  the  Major. 

"  Yes,  vivisection  ;  that's  it,  but  the  teachers  who 
did  it  called  it  '  science.'" 

"  Science  be — be  blessed  !''  exclaimed  the  Major, 
i  4  when  it  delves  in  a  humane  direction;  when  it 
does  more  good  than  evil,  and  when  it  causes  more 
pleasure  than  pain.  As  for  the  teachers  who  sub- 
ject their  pupils  to  such  demoralizing  influences, 
words  are  inadequate  to  express  my  contempt. 
Heaven  help  the  man  who  ever  makes  one  of  them 
his  wife.  The  kind  of  women  who  teach  science 
with  a  scalpel  are  morbid  and  unwomanly,  and  as 
cold  and  as  bloodless  as  turnips.  I'd  as  lief  marry 
a  hyena  as  a  woman  of  that  stamp." 

"  I  take  a  paper  called  'Our  Dumb  Animals,'  "  said 
Laura,  "published  in  Boston,  and  I  see  by  it  that 
the  Massachusetts  S.P.C.A.  has  succeeded  in  abolish- 
ing vivisection  from  the  schools  of  the  State." 

"I  am  delighted  at  their  success,"  rejoined  the- 
Major  fervently.  "I  think  I'll  write  them  a  letter 
expressing  my  sympathy,  and  enclose  a  check  to 
help  the  good  cause  along.  All  such  movements 
require  money— the  more  the  better." 


60        Some  oj  New  York's  Four  Hundred. 


The  recent  yacht  races  were  then  discussed,  a 
subject  on  which  Edmund  grew  enthusiastic,  and 
endeavored  to  make  known  his  superior  knowledge. 
Then  the  conversation  drifted,  and  remained  general 
the  rest  of  the  evening. 


CHAPTER  VII. 


IRECTLY  the  guests  were  gone  Helen 
vented  her  indignation  on  her  offend- 
ing niece.  "Lillian  Chester,"  she  ex- 
claimed, "you  are  no  more  fit  to 
appear  in  a  drawing-room  than  an  uncivilized  Hot- 
tentot. Your  conduct  to-night  was  perfectly  dread- 
ful ;  you  acted  shamefully." 

"'Shamefully'  is  an  adverb,"  returned  Lillian, 
"  and  I'm  not  an  adverb,  so  I  couldn't  have  acted 
like  one.    I'm  a  noun.    Miss  Wilson  said  so." 

"You're  an  exceedingly  improper  noun,  then ; 
in  fact,  you  were  a  very  common  noun  to-night, 
judging  from  your  conduct." 

"I'm  not  a  common  noun,  aunt  Helen,  and  if  you 
say  so  it's  because  you  don't  know  good  grammar. 
That  sofa  pillow  is  a  common  noun,  and  this  chair ; 
and  I'm  not  a  pillow  nor  a  chair,  though  you  do  try 
to  sit  on  me  sometimes.  Oh,  I  know  what  I  am," 
she  added  suddenly,  "  I'm  a  verb,  because  I'm  al- 
ways in  action." 

"  Mother,"  said  Helen,  "it's  perfectly  absurd  for 
a  child  of  nine  years  to  be  studying  grammar  and 
talking  about  verbs  and  nouns  and  adverbs  when 
she  doesn't  know  the  first  rules  of  polite  deport- 
ment.   What  is  Miss  Wilson  thinking  about  to  put 

61 


62        Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred. 


her  into  grammar  ?  If  I  were  you  I  would  engage 
a  more  competent  governess  at  once." 

"  Miss  Wilson  never  put  me  into  a  grammar,'* 
said  Lillian,  indignantly.  "  I  never  saw  a  gram- 
mar. She  only  told  me  what  a  noun  was,  and  a 
verb,  and  all  the  rest." 

"Well,"  rejoined  Helen,  "she  is  only  wasting 
time.  She  might  better  be  teaching  you  that  pert 
children  of  your  age  should  be  seen  and  not  heard." 

Then  Bartlett  appeared  on  the  scene  in  response 
to  Mrs.  Burton's  imperious  ring,  and  bore  her 
charge  away. 

"  Now  mother,"  said  Helen,  "  the  next  time  we 
have  company,  if  Lillian  is  permitted  to  leave  the 
nursery  I  shall  not  come  into  the  drawing-room  at  all. 
She  is  the  most  disagreeable  child  I  ever  saw,  and 
both  you  and  Laura  encourage  her  in  her  pert  ways." 

"  I  do  nothing  of  the  kind,"  replied  Mrs.  Burton, 
somewhat  sternly,  "nor  does  Laura;  and  I  must 
say,  Laura  exercises  far  better  judgment  in  manag- 
ing her  than  you  do.  You  become  offended  with 
her  childish  doings  the  same  as  if  you  were  her  own 
age,  while  Laura  assumes  a  superior  dignity,  and 
wins  her  love  and  respect,  instead  of  antagonizing 
her.  Let  me  assure  you,  Helen,  that  your  treat- 
ment of  Lillian  is  very  displeasing  to  me,  and  your 
constant  criticism  of  my  actions  as  well." 

Helen  rose,  said  "good  night,"  and  left  the  room. 
She  was  indignant  that  in  one  single  instance  Laura 
had  found  favor  in  her  mother's  sight  where  she 
had  not. 


Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred.  63 


The  evening  after  Mr.  Cornell  and  Major  Upton 
dined  at  "Wildwood  "  the  two  were  sitting  out  on 
the  piazza  enjoying  a  quiet  smoke,  when  the  Major 
referred  to  the  Burtons. 

u  You're  fortunate,  Harold,"  he  said,  "in  having 
become  acquainted  with  your  neighbors,  inasmuch 
as  they  seem  so  sociably  inclined.  I  was  not  quite 
favorably  impressed  with  Mrs.  Burton;  she  ap- 
peared to  be  somewhat  superficial.  But  Miss  Bur- 
ton is  a  jewel ;  there's  character  for  you — noble 
character.  She's  a  broad-minded,  whole-souled 
girl — fine  looking  too." 

"And  Miss  Helen — what  did  you  think  of  her?" 
asked  Mr.  Cornell. 

"  Well,  to  tell  the  truth,"  returned  the  Major, 
"I  haven't  wasted  very  much  thought  on  her.  She's 
very  ordinary  compared  with  her  sister ;  her  mind 
is  as  narrow  as  her  sister's  is  broad.  With  her — if 
I  am  any  judge  of  human  nature — it's  self,  always 
self ;  first,  last  and  all  the  time.  I  was  mightily 
pleased  with  the  shot  the  little  one  gave  her.  Guess 
there's  no  love  lost  between  those  two,  although  the 
child  idolizes  the  other  one.  As  for  young  Burton, 
he's  a  sort  of  nonentity.  Prides  himself  on  being  a 
rich  man's — or  rather,  a  rich  woman's  only  son,  and 
quite  a  swell.  He's  -been  humored  by  an  indulgent 
mother  until  his  manhood  is  dwarfed.  Had  he  been 
a  poor  man's  son,  and  been  compelled  to  be  self- 
reliant  and  hustle  for  a  living,  he  might  have 
amounted  to  something  ;  he  may  yet.  He's  young 
enough  to  improve,  but  I  must  say  his  chances  are 


64 


Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred. 


small  if  he  doesn't  break  away  from  bis  mother's 
superficial  influences.  Nevertheless,  as  a  whole, 
they're  a  pleasant  family  to  know." 

''Evidently  Mrs.  Burton's  ideas  of  her  son  do 
not  coincide  with  yours,"  remarked  Mr.  Cornell. 

"  Indeed  not.  She's  as  blind  as  a  bat  to  his 
faults.  While  you  were  turning  the  music  for  Miss 
Helen  I  had  quite  a  chat  with  her.  She's  quite  a 
clever  woman,  rather  well-informed,  but  decidedly 
conservative  and  prejudiced.  She  dotes  on  that  son 
of  hers,  thinks  he's  the  pink  of  perfection ;  but  if 
any  one  were  to  point'  out  a  few  of  his  faults  and 
give  her  some  hard  horse-sense  suggestions  concern- 
ing him,  do  you  think  she  would  receive  them  kind- 
ly? No  indeed;  she  would  be  as  mad  as  a  March 
hare." 

"  You  could  hardly  blame  her,"  replied  Mr.  Cor- 
nell, "for  resenting  it  as  a  personal  affront,  partic- 
ularly if  she  had  not  asked  her  adviser's  opinion." 

"  That  is  very  probable,"  continued  the  Major. 
"People  are  so  suspicious  of  the  motives  of  their 
critics  that  they  lose  sight  of  the  truths  those  critics 
sometimes  discover.  They  would  rather  be  flattered 
than  found  fault  with,  and  the  more  conservative 
and  narrow-minded  the  individual  the  more  objec- 
tionable becomes  the  criticism.  They  are  offended 
at  once,  and  their  best  friend  is  often  looked  upon 
as  an  enemy.  Kindly  intentions  count  for  nothing 
with  such  people,  and  I  must  say  women  are  more 
inconsistent  than  men." 

"  You  speak  as  a  man  of  experience,  Major." 


Some  o  f  New  York's  Four  Hundred. 


65 


"Well,  I  have  had  some,  and  one,  particularly, 
which  I  think  would  surprise  3*011.  But  I'm  not 
going  to  bore  you  with  it.  I'll  simply  admit  this 
much.  Only  for  the  inconsistency  of  woman,  I 
would  not  be  sitting  here  to-night  an  old  bachelor." 

"  It  would  not  bore  me,  I  assure  you.  I'd  like 
to  hear  it  immensely." 

"  Possibly  ;  but  it's  a  long  story  and  best  untold, 
so  we'll  leave  it  a  sealed  chapter.  But  talking 
about  woman's  inconsistency,  let  me  give  you  an 
illustration.  There's  Mrs.  Blank  of  Stuyvesant 
Square,  for  instance.  She  is  really  a  kind-hearted 
woman  whose  motives  are  excellent ;  but  she  is  in- 
consistent— dreadfully  so.  We  had  a  conversation 
one  evening,  dining  which  cruelty  to  animals  was 
discussed.  She  is  bitterly  opposed  to  docking 
horses,  and  gave  expression  to  her  opinions  on  the 
subject  in  rather  forcible  terms.  And  yet,  in  less 
than  a  week  after  that  conversation  I  saw  her 
whirling  past  one  morning  in  a  hired  cab  drawn  by 
a  dock-tailed  horse.  The  next  time  I  saw  her  I 
called  her  to  account  for  patronizing  that  cabman, 
but  she  hardly  understood  my  motive  until  I  ex- 
plained that  she  was  indirectly  encouraging  the  very 
practice  which  she  so  strongly  condemned.  I  tried 
to  impress  her  with  the  idea  that  no  coachman  who 
drove  a  dock-tailed  horse  or  used  a  tight  check,  or 
who  in  any  way  seemed  neglectful  of  his  horse, 
should  be  patronized.  And  will  you  believe  it,  she 
actually  laughed  at  me ;  intimated  that  I  was  an 
extremist,  and  said  that  if  she  had  refused  the  cab 


66 


Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hu  ndred. 


on  those  grounds  the  cabman  would  have  thought 
her  a  crank." 

"  And  what  was  your  defense,  Major?" 

"  I  said  to  her  :  Mrs.  Blank,  what  need  you  care 
for  the  cabman's  opinion  ?  Why  did  you  not  tell 
him  plainly  that  you  would  not  ride  behind  a  horse 
with  a  docked  tail.  Then  encourage  your  friends 
to  follow  your  example.  By  the  time  half  a  dozen 
had  refused  his  cab  for  the  same  reason,  he  would 
begin  to  realize  that  docked  tails  were  losing  pres- 
tige. By  degrees  his  fellow  cabmen  would  fare  the 
same  way,  and  in  time  come  to  his  way  of  thinking. 
They  would  refuse  to  buy  docked  animals,  the  de- 
mand for  them  would  be  less  and  less,  until  eventu- 
ally there  would  be  no  market  for  them  at  all.  And 
when  the  rich  could  no  longer  dispose  of  their  worn 
out  docked  horses  in  order  to  replenish  their  stables 
with  younger  ones,  the  diabolical  practice  would 
soon  cease." 

"What  did  Mrs.  Blank  say  to  all  that?" 

k'  Why,  she  coincided  with  me  fully.  Said  she 
had  never  thought  of  it  from  that  standpoint  before, 
and  would  be  only  too  glad  to  follow  my  sugges- 
tions. All  of  which  proves  that  she  is  sensible,  and 
can  be  reasoned  with,  and  that  her  apparent  incon- 
sistency is  more  a  lack  of  observation  and  thought 
than  otherwise.  Some  women  would  have  laughed 
at  my  ideas  and  ignored  them  altogether,  if  in  any 
way  they  would  have  been  inconvenienced  in  apply- 
ing them.  Some  people  are  so  utterly  selfish  and 
superficial,  and  so  indifferent  to  the  inhuman  treat- 


Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred.  67 


ment  of  animals,  that  it  is  impossible  to  reason  with 
them  or  to  get  them  interested." 

"  I  think  you  have  proved  that  Mrs.  Blank  is 
an  exception  to  your  list  of  'inconsistent'  lady 
acquaintances,"  observed  Mr.  Cornell.  "Many 
would  have  held  to  their  first  opinions,  whereas 
she  changed  on  giving  the  subject  a  moment's 
thought." 

u  I  think  I  can  name  one  woman  who  is  neither 
inconsistent  nor  thoughtless,"  returned  the  Major, 
"and  that  is  Miss  Burton.  I'm  immensely  inter- 
ested in  that  girl,  Harold  ;  she  pleases  me  wonder- 
fully. Her  character  is  self-reliant  and  forceful, 
tempered  with  kindness  and  good  sense.  What 
have  you  to  say  on  the  subject  ?" 

14  Nothing  in  opposition,  I  assure  you,"  returned. 
Mr.  Cornell,  smiling  at  the  Major's  earnestness. 

' 4  In  opposition,  I  should  say  not,"  grunted  the 
Major.  "  But  what  about  something  in  her  favor? 
I'll  tell  you  what  it  is,  Harold,  if  you  ever  intend  to 
marry  it's  time  you  were  thinking  about  it,  and  I 
don't  believe  you'd  find  a  more  desirable  girl  if  you 
looked  the  world  over  than  Laura  Burton.  AVhat 
do  you  say  ?  " 

"I  quite  agree  with  you,  Major,  that  Miss  Bur- 
ton is  very  charming." 

"Not  only  charming  but  gifted,"  retorted  the 
Major.  "In  fact,  she's  my  ideal  of  a  woman. 
Seriously,  Harold,  have  you  no  intention  of  ever 
marrying  ? " 

"  Really,  Major,"  returned  Mr.  Cornell  evasively, 


68        Some  of  Xew  York's  Four  Hundred. 


"  I  never  knew  you  to  be  so  enthusiastic  about  any 
woman  before.    Seems  to  me  you  are — " 

—  "  I'll  tell  you  what  it  is,  my  boy,"  interposed 
the  Major  impatiently,  because  of  Mr.  Cornell's  im 
difference,  "  if  I  were  your  age  instead  of  being  old 
enough  to  be  your  father,  I  would  warn  you  to  look 
out  for  yourself  and  lose  no  time,  for  I'd  enter  the 
i ace,  and  I'd  enter  to  win — if  I  could." 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


N  June  the  Belmonts  came  to  "  Wild- 
wood"  for  a  week  prior  to  embarking 
for  Europe.  The  eveniug  after  their 
arrival  Mr.  Cornell  and  Major  Upton 
called  informally,  unaware  of  guests  beiug  present. 
The  next  morning  Mrs.  Burton  received  a  note  from 
Mr.  Cornell  inviting  herself  and  daughters,  together 
with  their  guests,  to  take  a  sail  on  his  steam  yacht 
"Figaro"  the  next  afternoon  directly  after  luucheon. 
In  a  postscript  he  added  :  "I  sincerely  hope,  dear 
Mrs.  Burton,  that  Miss  Lillian  may  be  one  of  the 
party.  I  am  sure  we  would  enjoy  her  company  and 
I  am  sure  she  would  enjoy  the  sail.      H.  L.  C." 

Mrs.  Burton  accepted  the  invitation,  then  sent  the 
note  to  Laura,  Helen  being  at  the  time  invisible, 
and  in  that  manner  it  fell  into  Lillian's  hands.  The 
postscript  especially  delighted  her. 

"  O,  I  do  think  Mr.  Cornell  is  lovely  !  "  she  ex- 
claimed.   "  Don't  you,  auntie  Laura?" 

"  It  is  very  good  of  him  to  remember  you,  I  am 
sure,"  was  the  reply. 

"Auntie,  what  does  '  H.  L.  C  stand  for?"  she 
asked,  still  surveying  the  note. 

41  They  are  Mr.  Cornell's  initials.  Look  at  the 
main  part  of  the  note  and  read  the  signature." 

69 


70        Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred. 


"It  is  'Harold  Livingston  Cornell,'"  said  Lillian. 
"Auntie,"  she  proceeded  after  a  moment's  medita- 
tion, "I  don't  think  'H.  L.'  are  nice  initials  at  all." 

"  "Why  not ;  what  is  wrong  with  them?" 

"Well,"  she  replied,  demurely,  "  if  ycu  put  an 
4  e '  after  the  '  H '  and  then  add  another  1 1 '  it  would 
spell  the  name  of  the  bad  place,  where  Mangin  said 
I'd  go  if  I  chloroformed  another  lobster." 

"Why,  Lillian,  you  should  not  talk  like  that. 
It's  not  nice." 

Just  then  Helen  knocked  for  admittance  and 
asked  to  see  Mr.  Cornell's  note,  which  fact  saved 
Laura  from  further  discussion. 

The  yachting  party  next  day  had  an  enjoyable 
time,  and  that  night,  before  retiring  to  her  room, 
Estelle  Belmont  said  to  Helen : 

"'Wildwood'  is  simply  charming.  Iam  really 
sorry  we  are  going  abroad,  otherwise  I  would  beg  to 
remain  here  all  summer.  And,"  she  added,  half 
laughing,  half  earnest,  "I  think  Mr.  Cornell  is 
simply  elegant." 

"And  so  do  I,"  thought  Helen,  but  her  thoughts 
remained  unspoken. 

When  the  Belmonts  left,  Edmund  and  Helen  ac- 
companied them  into  town,  Edmund  for  the  purpose 
of  attending  a  yacht  race  that  afternoon  down  the 
bay,  and  Helen  to  spend  the  day  with  Mrs.  Mar- 
telle,  her  mother's  sister. 

During  the  afternoon  Mr.  Cornell  called  to  bring 
Mrs.  Burton  a  book  which  was  out  of  print,  and 
which  she  had  expressed  a  wish  to  read.  She 


Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred,  71 


thanked  him  for  his  thoughtfulness  and  insisted 
upon  his  remaining  to  dinner.  "My  daughter  Laura 
and  I  are  quite  alone  to-day,"  she  explained,  "and 
would  find  dinner  exceedingly  dull." 

Mr.  Cornell  readily  accepted  her  imitation.  "I 
am  really  glad  of  the  opportunity,"  he  said,  "for  I 
too  am  alone  to-day.  Major  Upton  is  in  Phila- 
delphia and  will  not  return  until  to-morrow." 

So  he  remained,  and  after  dinner  they  went  out 
upon  the  broad  piazza  to  enjoy  the  warm  summer 
evening.  Mrs.  Burton  seated  herself  in  a  hammock, 
Lillian  lounged  on  a  rug  thrown  upon  the  grass,  while 
Mr.  Cornell  and  Laura  occupied  easy  chairs.  The 
evening  was  sultry,  and  as  the  twilight  deepened, 
Mrs.  Burton's  fan  ceased  its  motion  and  she  was 
soon  dozing.  Lillian  fell  asleep  on  the  grass,  leav- 
ing Mr.  Cornell  and  Laura  practically  alone.  The 
moon  rose  full  and  clear ;  the  air  was  heavily  per- 
fumed with  flowers  ;  the  situation  was  entrancing, 
and  by  tacit  consent  they  conversed  in  lower  tones 
so  as  not  to  disturb  the  sleepers. 

At  last  a  silvery  toned  clock  from  within  chimed 
nine.  Mrs.  Burton  moved  in  the  hammock,  and 
again  the  fan  slowly  fluttered. 

"  Dreadfully  oppressive  to-night,"  she  remarked. 
"Really  I  feel  too  enervated  to  converse  intelligently, 
so  please  excuse  me,  Mr.  Cornell.  My  daughter  is 
not  affected  by  atmospheric  influences  as  I  am,  and 
no  doubt  you  will  find  her  far  more  entertaining." 

Mr.  Cornell  made  some  fitting  reply,  and  soon 
Mrs.  Burton  was  quietly  dozing  again. 


72        Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred. 

"  Poor  mother,"  said  Laura,  "  she  so  dislikes  to 
admit  even  to  herself  that  she  is  not  as  young  as 
she  once  was,  or  that  she  finds  it  difficult  to  keep 
awake.  It  would  mortify  her  very  much  if  she 
thought  you  suspected  she  was  asleep." 

When  the  train  on  which  Edmund  and  Helen  were 
to  arrive  whistled  for  the  station,  Mr.  Cornell  rose 
to  take  leave.  Evidently  he  had  passed  a  most 
delightful  evening  and  did  not  care  to  have  the 
remembrance  disturbed  by  the  advent  of  a  less 
congenial  element. 

Mrs.  Burton,  awakened  by  the  incoming  train, 
rose  up  and  endeavored  to  appear  wide  awake  as 
she  bade  him  good-night. 

After  that  Mr.  Cornell  and  Laura  met  often,  but 
never  to  be  aloue.  If  at  "  Wildwood,"  other  mem- 
bers of  the  family  were  present ;  if  out  on  a  ramble 
Laura  was  either  accompanied  by  a  guest  or  Miss 
Lillian.  But  the  remembrance  of  that  moonlight 
night  she  never  forgot.  When  he  took  leave  she  felt 
that  he  was  interested  in  her,  while  in  her  inmost  heart 
she  knew  that  she  loved  him.  And  so  the  summer 
passed  pleasantly  by  and  early  autumn  came. 

One  bright  morniug  Laura  and  Lillian  took  a 
long  ramble  in  a  different  direction  from  any  they 
had  ever  taken  before.  When  some  two  miles 
from  "  Wildwood  "  they  suddenly  found  themselves 
in  a  marshy  piece  of  ground. 

4  i  We  had  better  venture  no  further  in  this  direc- 
tion," said  Laura,  "but  go  direct  to  the  public 
highway  and  return  home  by  that." 


Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred. 


73 


On  reaching  the  highway  they  had  proceeded  only 
a  short  distance  when  a  horseman  came  galloping  up 
behind  them. 

"  O  auntie,  it's  Mr.  Cornell !  "  exclaimed  Lillian, 
who  had  taken  advantage  of  the  license  accorded  to 
children  to  turn  and  watch  the  advancing  rider.  On 
overtaking  them  Mr.  Cornell  dismounted,  chatted  a 
moment,  then  asked  the  privilege  of  walking  home 
with  them. 

"This  is  indeed  a  surprise,"  he  said.  "I  thought 
you  never  came  in  this  direction." 

44  We  never  have  before,"  replied  Lillian,  "but 
we  were  caught  in  a  swamp,  and  had  to  get  out 
quickly  or  get  wet.  See,"  she  added,  displaying 
her  little  stained  shoe.  "But  now  since  you've 
come,"  she  continued  spritely,  "  I'm  glad  we  did 
get  in  the  swamp,  and  I  guess  auntie  is  glad  too, 
for  if  we  hadn't  we  wouldn't  have  seen  you." 

Laura  was  silent. 

"Aren't  you  glad,  auntie  Laura?"  the  child 
persisted. 

"Why  certainly,"  was  the  frank  reply.  "  Other- 
wise you  would  have  been  denied  a  great  pleasure." 

Lillian  laughed  and  bounded  away  to  gather  a 
bunch  of  ferns  growing  by  the  wayside. 

"  You  speak  entirely  from  Lillian's  standpoint, 
Miss  Burton,"  said  Mr.  Cornell  with  a  quick,  mean- 
ing look. 

The  look  and  real  significance  of  his  words  ap- 
parently passed  unheeded,  for  in  a  formally  polite 
manner  Laura  replied  :  "  Not  entirely,  Mr.  Cornell, 


74        Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred. 


for  I  assure  you  I  am  pleased  that  you  overtook  us. 
The  road  is  a  rather  lonely  one  and  your  coming  was 
quite  opportune." 

A  shade  of  disappointment  passed  over  his  face. 
Her  words  uttered  in  that  polite  but  indifferent 
tone  conveyed  to  him  nothing  more  than  ordinary 
courtesy,  and  he  would  have  been  glad  to  know 
that  she  was  as  pleased  to  see  him  as  he  was  to  see 
her. 

Soon  Lillian  returned  with  the  bunch  of  ferns, 
but  for  once  Mr.  Cornell  found  his  little  favorite 
decidedly  de  trop  and  heartily  wished  her  out  of  the 
way.  He  sent  her  off  on  several  expeditions,  but 
like  the  proverbial  bad  penny  she  always  returned 
—  too  soon. 

"  Do  you  see  that  butterfly?"  he  asked  at  last. 
"  Run,  Lillian,  and  see  which  can  go  the  faster, 
you  or  the  butterfly." 

"It's  wicked  to  chase  butterflies,"  returned 
Lillian,  "  and  auntie  Laura  won't  allow  me  to." 

"  She  will  for  this  once,"  he  said  with  assurance, 
and  without  even  a  glance  toward  Laura.  "Be- 
sides," he  added,  "  you  need  not  catch  it ;  only  run 
a  race,  you  know,  and  if  you  beat  the  butterfly  I'll 
give  you  a  dollar." 

Not  suspecting  Mr.  Cornell's  motive,  Lillian 
promptly  replied : 

"  Grandma  Burton  gives  me  all  the  dollars  I 
need,  and  I'm  sure  I'd  be  beaten  if  I  tried  the  race, 
so  I  guess  I  won't  try  it."  A  moment  later  she 
added  quickly  :  "I  guess  I  will  try  after  all,  and  if 


Soyne  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred.  75 


I  win  the  dollar  I'll  give  it  to  auntie  Laura,  because 
she  hasn't  any  money  any  more  ;  grandma  gives  it 
all  to  uncle  Edmund  and  aunt  Helen." 

Before  Laura  could  utter  one  word  of  reproof  the 
child  shook  the  butterfly  from  the  bush  on  which  it 
rested  and  bounded  off  in  swift  pursuit.  Then  in 
sudden  desperation  Laura  explained  that  her  man- 
ner of  spending  her  allowance  had  so  displeased  her 
mother  that  it  had  long  since  been  withheld. 

"I  cannot  imagine,"  said  Mr.  Cornell,  "that 
you  spent  it  foolishly  or  impro violently." 

"Nor  did  I.  It  was  mostly  used  in  instances 
which  appealed  to  my  sympathies,  and  according  to 
my  best  judgment  and  discretion." 

Then  Laura  changed  the  subject,  not  caring  to 
further  discuss  either  the  merits  or  demerits  of  the 
case  from  her  own,  or  from  her  mother's  side  of  the 
question. 

Their  conversation  was  mostly  on  general  sub- 
jects, and  friendly  —  nothing  more.  And  yet 
something  in  his  tone,  his  look,  told  her  that  he 
loved  her,  and  that  he  would  tell  her  so  then  and 
there  were  it  not  for  Lillian's  uncomfortably  near 
presence  and  liability  to  suddenly  return.  And 
sure  enough  she  did  return  almost  the  next  moment, 
panting  and  out  of  breath,  but  joyous  nevertheless. 

"I  beat!"  she  cried.  "The  butterfly  fluttered 
and  fluttered,  and  I  got  to  that  tree  way  out  there 
first.    That  was  fair,  wasn't  it?  " 

"  O  yes,  quite  fair,"  and  taking  a  dollar  from 
his  pocket  Mr.  Cornell  placed  it  in  her  hand. 


76        Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred, 


With  a  proud  air  she  promptly  handed  it  over  to 
Laura. 

"It's  the  first  mone}'  I  ever  earned  all  by  my- 
self," she  said,  "  and  it  will  buy  supper  for  lots  of 
little  boys  and  girls,  and  for  some  hungry  animals 
too  ;  won't  it,  auntie?  " 

Laura  hesitated  about  taking  Lillian's  hard- 
earned  money. 

"  Take  it,  Miss  Burton,"  said  Mr.  Cornell  in  an 
aside.  "  It  will  encourage  the  child  to  be  generous 
and  unselfish.  Besides,  she  earned  it  only  for  the 
pleasure  of  giving  it  to  you." 

Finding  no  other  pretext  on  which  to  send  Lillian 
away  they  all  walked  on  together. 

"Mr.  Cornell,  you  have  been  gathering  autumn 
leaves,"  Lillian  suddenly  exclaimed.  u  I  see  them 
in  your  pocket." 

"  Only  a  few,"  he  returned,  withdrawing  a  hand- 
ful from  the  breast-pocket  of  his  riding-jacket  and 
fastening  several  variegated  ones  in  her  broad- 
brimmed  hat.  Then  from  the  bunch  he  took  three 
smaller  ones,  more  delicately  tinted  than  the  others 
and  handed  them  to  Laura. 

"These  are  really  the  rarest  specimens  I  ever 
saw  in  autumn  leaves,"  he  said. 

She  accepted  them  and  proceeded  to  adorn  the 
lapel  of  her  walking  coat. 

"  Now  Miss  Lillian,"  he  said,  "  I  hope  you 
admire  those  leaves  sufficiently  to  keep  them  in 
remembrance  of  this  morning's  walk." 

He  did  not  even  glance  toward  Laura,  but  she 


Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred. 


77 


felt  intuitively  that  bis  words  were  intended  for  her, 
and  a  faint  color  stole  to  her  cheeks,  which  he 
quickly  detected,  and  once  more  he  wished  Lillian 
were  far  away. 

On  reaching  u Wild wood,"  Lillian,  ever  ready 
with  her  invitations,  begged  Mr.  Cornell  to  go  in 
and  remain  to  luncheon. 

44  What  about  Roman?"  he  asked.  44  He  wants 
his  luncheon,  too,  and  he  prefers  his  own  stable  to 
any  other,  so  I  think  I  must  decline." 

44  Next  time  we  take  a  walk,  if  you  mean  to  catch 
up  with  us,"  she  said  demurely,  44 please  leave 
Roman  at  home,  for  if  you  are  going  to  walk  all 
the  way  there's  no  use  bothering  to  lead  him  about." 

On  entering  the  house  Laura  went  directly  to  her 
own  apartments  and  tenderly  placed  the  three  leaves 
in  a  volume  of  poems.  All  day  long  her  thoughts 
were  with  Mr.  Cornell.  She  remembered  his  every 
look,  his  every  word.  44 1  am  sure  he  loves  me," 
she  thought,  44  and  some  day  he  will  tell  me  so." 

The  next  day  Mr.  Cornell  went  away  on  a  yacht- 
ing cruise.  Then  came  several  days  of  rain,  keep- 
ing every  one  confined  within  doors.  The  rain  was 
succeeded  by  a  cold  wave.  Mrs.  Burton  hugged 
the  fire  and  shivered,  then  complained  of  a  touch  of 
sciatica,  and  finally  made  sudden  preparations  to 
return  to  town.  To  Laura  this  was  a  blow.  She 
could  scarcely  realize  that  the  most  delightful  sum- 
mer of  her  life  had  so  suddenly  ended.  No  more 
rambles  over  the  fields,  no  more  yachting  excursions, 
no  more  evenings  on  the  moonlit  piazza.  And 


78 


Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred. 


worse  than  all,  to  go  without  seeing  Mr.  Cornell 
for  one  word  of  farewell.  Soon,  however,  she  found 
consolation  in  the  thought  that  he  too  would  spend 
the  winter  in  town,  and  that  he  would  call  upon 
them  directly  he  came.  Then  another  summer  would 
come,  and  she  must  live  in  hope  and  anticipation 
until  it  did. 

Mrs.  Burton  had  never  expressed  disapproval  of 
Mr.  Cornell,  but  rather  encouraged  his  frequent 
visits  to  "  Wildwood."  Had  he  shown  a  preference 
for  either  daughter  she  would  straightway  have 
drawn  the  line  ;  but  he  could  not  wed  both,  and  as 
his  visits  appeared  merely  friendly,  and  no  more  to 
one  than  the  other,  she  considered  there  was  nothing 
to  fear  from  him  and  blindly  permitted  matters  to 
drift  along. 

Soon  after  returning  to  her  town  house  Mrs. 
Burton  prepared  to  give  a  series  of  entertainments 
during  the  approaching  season.  Elaborate  toilettes 
for  herself  and  daughters  were  ordered  from  abroad. 
Tn  matters  of  dress  Mrs.  Burton  showed  no  par- 
tiality, and  Laura's  wardrobe  was  as  lavishly  sup- 
plied as  her  sister's.  Nevertheless  Laura  was 
dissatisfied.  Going  about  arrayed  like  a  fashion- 
plate  and  carrying  an  almost  empty  purse  was 
rather  humiliating,  and  in  the  city  her  need  of  money 
became  so  frequent  as  to  render  her  desperate. 

"I  cannot  endure  it !  "  she  exclaimed  to  herself. 
"This  penniless  condition  is  intolerable.  If  mother 
will  not  give  me  any  money  I  must  earn  it  for 
myself  " 


Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred. 


79 


That  night  she  was  nervous  and  wakeful.  Differ- 
ent schemes  for  earning  money  were  floating  through 
her  brain.  At  last  she  decided  on  one  to  adopt, 
and  after  considering  it  from  all  points  of  view  her 
mind  was  relieved  and  she  fell  asleep. 

One  morning  a  few  days  later  she  rang  the  bell 
of  an  aristocratic  residence  on  Madison  Avenue,  and 
sent  in  her  card  to  Mrs.  Archibald  Vernoyse.  She 
was  shown  into  the  reception  room,  and  a  moment 
later  her  hostess  was  greeting  her,  it  being  against 
that  lady's  principles  to  keep  her  guests  long  waiting. 

"  My  dear  Laura,  so  glad  to  see  you,"  she  ex- 
claimed somewhat  effusively.  "  You  are  alone  too  ; 
really  this  is  an  unexpected  pleasure.*' 

' ;  And  I  came  quite  secretly.  Neither  mother 
nor  Helen  knew  of  my  coming." 

"Really!  Now  my  dear,"  continued  Mrs.  Ver- 
noyse persuasively,  "be  a  real  good  girl  and  oblige 
me  by  sending  your  carriage  home  and  remaining 
to  luncheon  with  me.  I'll  send  you  home  in  my  own 
carriage  in  time  for  dinner." 

"I  have  no  carriage  to  send  home,"  returned 
Laura;  "nor  even  a  cab  to  dismiss.  I  walked 
because  I  couldn't  afford  to  hire  one." 

Mrs.  Vernoyse  smiled  incredulously. 

"  I  am  in  earnest,"  said  Laura,  "  and  if  you  will 
show  me  to  your  own  apartments  where  we  can 
talk  without  interruption  I  will  gladly  accept  your 
invitation  to  luncheon,  for  I  have  a  matter  of  im- 
portance to  discuss  with  you." 

When  alone  in  Mrs.  Vernoyse'  boudoir,  Laura 


80         Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred. 


was  assured  that  any  confidence  she  wished  to  im- 
part would  be  considered  sacred  and  confidential, 
and  without  hesitation  she  proceeded  to  make  her 
position  clear.  Mrs.  Vernoyse  became  very  indig- 
nant at  what  she  considered  the  humiliation  to  which 
her  favorite  was  subjected. 

"The  idea!"  she  exclaimed,  "of  your  being 
treated  as  though  you  were  a  child  with  no  mind  of 
your  own,  or  rather  no  judgment  or  discretion." 

"I  can't  complain  for  myself  personally,"  was 
Laura's  quick  response.  "My  mother  is  very 
generous  in  supplying  my  own  requirements,  but 
I  need  money  for  others,  who  are  destitute  and 
unhappy,  and  for  the  relief  of  unfortunate  ani- 
mals." 

"  And  is  Helen  treated  the  same  as  you?" 

"  O  no.  She  receives  her  allowance  regularly 
each  quarter  the  same  as  I  did  until  forced  to  re- 
nounce my  little  charities." 

"  Is  Helen  under  any  restrictions  in  the  spending 
of  her  allowance  ?  " 

"None  whatever;  she  uses  it  to  suit  her  own 
pleasure." 

"Indeed.  And  you  are  not  accorded  the  same 
privilege?  Well,  to  my  mind  it's  a  clear  case  of 
partiality." 

"  I  don't  think  my  mother  intends  to  be  partial, 
Mrs.  Vernoyse  ;  but  the  money  she  allows  Helen  is 
used  in  a  way  that  pleases  her." 

"  Yes,  and  in  a  way  which  pleases  Miss  Helen  at 
the  same  time,  no  doubt.    Well,  my  dear  child,  what 


Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred.  81 


is  to  be  the  outcome  of  all  this?  In  other  words, 
what  do  you  propose  to  do  ?  " 

"I  propose  going  into  business  and  earning 
money  for  myself." 

"Humph!  And  in  what  manner,  pray?  Are 
you  going  to  learn  typewriting  and  go  into  some 
dingy  office  for  six  or  eight  dollars  a  week  ?  " 

"  O  no ;  not  quite  as  bad  as  that.'" 

"  Nursery  governess  then,  as  most  girls  in  novels 
do  who  have  met  with  reverses  ?  " 

u  No,  I  am  unlike»the  ordinary  '  novel '  girl  in  that 
respect." 

14  Going  on  the  stage  perhaps?" 

"  No  indeed.    I  am  not  at  all  stage-struck." 

"  Will  you  be  kind  enough  then  to  tell  me  what 
you  do  contemplate  doing?"  asked  Mrs.  Vernoyse 
laughing. 

"  I  contemplate  going  into  the  millinery  business," 
replied  Laura  calmly. 

Mrs.  Vernoyse  raised  her  hands  in  dismay. 
"  You  don't  mean  it  surely,"  she  said. 

"  I  do  indeed.  I  never  was  more  earnest  in  my 
life." 

"  Please  explain  yourself.  In  what  capacity  are 
you  going  into  the  business  ?  Buyer,  trimmer,  sales- 
woman, or  what  ?" 

"Not  either  one.  I  intend  to  own  the  business 
myself  and  conduct  it  in  a  manner  to  insure  suc- 
cess." 

"Does  your  mother  know?" 

"  No  indeed.    She  would  be  horrified,  and  prob- 


82        Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred. 


ably  disinherit  me  entirely.  Do  not  think  that  I  wish 
to  displease  her,  Mrs.  Yernoyse  ;  but  she  forces  me 
to  do  something,  and  after  due  consideration  and 
some  investigation  I  have  decided  that  the  millinery 
business  pays  largely.  Besides,  I  have  another 
motive  in  view — as  important  as  the  financial  one." 
"  What  is  it?" 

"  The  abolishing  of  birds  and  birds'  wings  from 
hats  and  bonnets." 

Mrs.  Vernoyse  settled  back  in  her  chair  with  a 
resigned  air,  prepared  to  hear  all  details. 

u  My  plan,"  said  Laura,  "is  to  secure  show- 
rooms in  some  desirable  location  and  fit  them  up 
handsomely,  stock  them  with  the  choicest  line  of 
millinery  to  be  procured  at  home  or  abroad  and 
cater  only  to  the  wealthy  classes." 

"  And  would  you  have  the  supervision?" 

"  O  no,  certainly  not.  It  is  quite  out  of  my  line. 
I  am  totally  ignorant  of  the  requirements  for  run- 
ning such  an  establishment  as  I  have  in  mind.  I 
would  leave  all  that  to  competent  persons  and  only 
be  what  might  be  termed  a  c  silent  partner.' " 

"  How  would  you  abolish  the  fashion  of  wearing 
birds  ?" 

"  I  would  endeavor  to  make  them  unfashionable 
by  not  permitting  them  in  any  wray,  shape,  or  man- 
ner among  my  stock.  I  would  substitute  for  them 
the  rarest  and  most  valuable  flowers  and  laces, 
plumes  and  tips." 

1  c  And  do  you  think  you  could  change  the  fashion 
in  that  manner  ?" 


Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred.  83 

"To  a  certain  extent,  yes.  If  I  am  fortunate 
enough  to  make  the  venture  at  all  it  shall  be  made  on 
an  elaborate  and  attractive  scale.  The  place  shall  be 
a  regular  flower  emporium  and  if  possible  the  finest 
display  in  the  city.  The  absence  of  anything  in  the 
line  of  wings  or  stuffed  birds  will  be  unique,  and  will 
make  an  impression.  When  a  first  class  house 
adopts  a  certain  line  others  are  sure  to  follow, 
and  in  that  manner  fashions  become  established. 
Besides,  my  dear  Mrs.  Vernoyse,  I  shall  hope  for 
your  patronage  and  influence  and  that  of  your 
friends.  But  no  one  aside  from  yourself  must  know 
of  my  connection  with  the  affair.  You  are  the  only 
one  in  whom  I  shall  confide." 

"  I  appreciate  your  confidence,  my  dear,  and  I 
assure  }Tou  of  my  patronage  and  influence  in  advance. 
But  how  are  you  going  to  manage  such  a  gigantic 
undertaking  ?  Your  plans  as  theories  all  seem  very 
plausible,  but  do  you  realize  that  it  will  require 
barrels  of  money  to  do  all  you  propose  ?" 

"  I  realize  that  it  will  require  a  great  deal,"  re- 
plied Laura. 

"  '  A  great  deal'  does  not  express  it.  You  will 
need  a  mint  at  your  back  until  the  business  is  suffi- 
ciently established  to  be  self-supporting  and  able  to 
pay  a  dividend.  And  if  you  haven't  a  dollar  how 
do  you  hope  to  proceed  ?" 

"I  hope,"  returned  Laura  confidently,  "to  bor- 
row the  money  from  you ;  that  is  why  I  am  here 
to-day." 

"Humph!  borrow  it  from  me  !"  repeated  Mrs. 


84         Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hu  ndred. 


Veruoyse  dryly.  "  Well,  that's  cool  of  you  I  must 
say ;  decidedly  cool ;  decidedly  frank,  and  not  the 
least  bit  presuming.  And  pray  what  put  it  into 
your  pretty  brown  head  to  come  to  me  ?" 

"My  intuitions,  or  better  judgment;  perhaps 
both." 

"  Our  intuitions  often  lead  us  astray,"  muttered 
Mrs.  Veruoyse. 

"  Not  in  this  instance,  I  think,"  replied  Laura 
with  wonderful  assurance. 

"And  why  not?"  Mrs.  Vernoyse  asked  giving 
her  a  searching  look. 

"Well,"  returned  Laura  thoughtfully,  "you  are 
a  very  rich  woman,  a  generous  woman,  a  philan- 
thropist ;  besides  that,  you  have  been  a  true  friend 
to  me  all  my  life,  and  have  often  told  me  to  let  you 
know  if  in  any  way  you  could  be  of  service,  and  I 
think  you  will  not  permit  this  pet  scheme  of  mine  to 
go  untried  for  want  of  money." 

Mrs.  Vernoyse  made  no  reply.  She  merely 
rose,  took  a  rapid  survey  of  herself  in  a  mirror  to 
see  if  her  fluffy  gray'  hair  needed  re-arranging,  then 
rather  curtly  said  :  "  Come,  my  dear,  luncheon  is 
served  ;  I  think  we  can  better  discuss  this  momen- 
tous scheme  of  yours  on  the  strength  of  a  good  cup 
of  oolong.  Do  you  know,"  she  continued  briskly, 
as  though  to  evade  the  matter  under  discussion,  "in 
my  opinion  there's  nothing  in  the  drinking  line  to 
equal  a  cup  of  the  best  oolong.  And  I  want  it 
'  trimmed,'  as  they  call  it  down  in  Connecticut.  Do 
you  know  what  that  means  ?" 


Some  of  yew  York's  Four  Hundred. 


B5 


Laura  admitted  that  she  did  not. 

"  Neither  did  I  once.  The  first  time  I  ever  heard 
the  expression  was  at  a  Connecticut  farm-house 
when  I  was  a  girl.  At  their  twelve  o'clock  dinner 
the  hostess  asked  if  I  would  take  my  tea  ;  trimmed.' 
Not  having  the  remotest  idea  of  what  she  meant  I 
said  1  No,'  whereupon  she  handed  me  the  tea  pure 
and  simple.  I  handed  it  back  with  the  request  that 
she  add  cream  and  sugar.  She  looked  surprised 
and  said  she  understood  that  I  did  not  want  it 
'trimmed.'  And  to  this  day,  my  dear,  down-east, 
'trimming'  a  cup  of  tea  means  adding  cream  and 
sugar." 

Laura  rose  and  followed  Mrs.  Vernoyse  toward 
the  luncheon  room.  As  they  were  about  to  enter, 
the  latter  whispered  encouragingly  : 

"Now,  child,  enjoy  your  tea,  and  make  your 
mind  easy,  for  those  intuitions  of  yours  were  pretty 
correct  after  all,  ami  you  may  count  on  me  for  any 
amount  not  exceeding  a  quarter  of  a  million." 


CHAPTER  IX. 


AURA  was  not  at  all  surprised,  nor  had 
she  been  at  all  disappointed  at  3Irs. 
Vernoyse'  apparent  indifference.  She 
well  knew  her  to  be  as  impulsive  as 
she  was  generous,  as  generous  as  she  was  at  times 
erratic.  Nevertheless  she  was  popular  both  in 
society  and  in  private  life.  She  was  thoroughly 
good-hearted  too,  but  oftentimes  blunt  even  to 
brusqueness.  She  said  and  did  things  in  public 
which  only  Mrs.  Archibald  Vernoyse  could  do  or 
say  with  impunity.  She  sometimes  made  enemies  ; 
outspoken  people  usually  do.  But  she  only  acted 
or  spoke  according  to  her  convictions ;  and  with 
those  who  knew  her  as  she  was  and  who  understood 
and  appreciated  her  real  worth,  she  was  far  more 
esteemed  and  respected  than  if  she  had  been  less 
pronounced.  There  are  people  who  dare  not  speak 
their  minds  for  fear  of  giving  offence,  and  who,  in 
striving  to  win  the  approbation  of  all,  win  the  ap- 
probation of  none. 

The  luncheon  was  rather  elaborate,  as  Mrs.  Ver  - 
noyse' luncheons  always  were.  Among  other  dishes 
was  one  of  pate  defoie  gras.    Laura  refused  it. 

"Take  some;  it  is  unusually  line,"  urged  her 
hostess. 

80 


Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred.  87 


"  No,  thank  you  ;  I  refuse  from  principle,"  said 
Laura,  smiling. 

"From  principle,  fiddle-sticks,"  retorted  Mrs. 
Vernoyse.  "What  in  the  name  of  common  sense 
has  principle  to  do  with  pate  de  foie  gras  V* 

Laura  briefly  related  the  article  she  had  recently 
read,  and  graphically  described  the  acute  suffering 
of  the  geese  while  their  livers  were  being  abnormally 
developed. 

"  Is  that  true?  State  your  authority,"  demanded 
Mrs.  Vernoyse. 

Laura  named  the  paper  and  mentioned  the  article 
as  having  been  an  editorial.  No  servants  were 
present,  and  Mrs.  Vernoyse  rang  rather  peremp- 
torily. 

"  Carter,"  she  said  as  the  butler  responded, 
"  remove  this^>a£e  de  foie  gras  from  the  table,  and 
never  place  it  before  me  again.  Wait ;  tell  Larkins 
never  to  order  it ;  have  him  strike  it  from  the  list — 
it's  condemned,  boycotted  as  far  as  this  house  is 
concerned." 

A  few  moments  later  the  platter  of  rejected  food 
was  under  lively  discussion  in  the  servant's  dining- 
hall. 

"Ze  pate  de  foie  no  good  !"  exclaimed  the  French 
chef  in  alarm.  "  Saere  bleu!"  And  snatching  the 
platter  from  the  butler's  hand  he  tested  it  with  the 
assurance  of  an  epicure.  Then  his  excitement  sub- 
sided and  he  pronounced  it  of  the  best  quality. 

"Hit's  hall  right  then?"  inquired  Larkins. 
"Nothing  whatsomever  wrong  with  hit,  eh?  '*Er 


88        Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred. 


ladyship  takes  whims  sometimes,  or  perhaps,"  he 
added  in  a  stage  whisper,  "she  discovered  that  a 
fly  'ad  crawled  over  hit." 

"  So  much  the  more  for  ourselves,"  remarked 
Carter.     "  First  quality  food  too." 

"I  don't  want  none  of  it,  sure  I  don't,"  protested 
a  chambermaid.  "  Somethin's  wrong  wid  it  when 
my  lady  t'rows  it  at  de  butler," 

Some  decided  with  the  chef,  others  were  of  the 
opinion  that  something  was  wrong  with  the  dis- 
carded dish. 

After  luncheon  Laura's  prospective  enterprise  was 
again  under  discussion. 

"What  shall  be  the  first  step?"  asked  Mrs. 
Vernoyse. 

"  I  shall  consult  with  some  real  estate  broker  and 
secure  desirable  quarters  at  once.  The  rest  will  be 
easy  enough.  Of  course  it  will  take  time,  but  I 
hope  to  have  everything  arranged  within  a  few 
weeks." 

"Very  well ;  go  ahead  as  soon  as  you  like.  What 
money  you  may  need  will  be  forthcoming  b}7  ten 
o'clock  to-morrow  morning." 

"I  shall  not  require  anything  like  the  amount 
you  have  named,"  said  Laura,  "  but  whatever  I  do 
require  will  be  gratefully  received  and  returned  to 
you  as  soon  as  practicable." 

"  Don't  begin  to  talk  about  the  returning  before 
you've  even  gotten  it,"  said  Mrs.  Vernoyse,  blunt- 
ly, "and  don't  make  the  mistake  of  starting  with 
insufficient  capital.    The  assessors  tell  me  that  I  am 


Some  of  Kew  York's  Four  Hundred.  89 


worth  a  number  of  millions,  and  I  would  be  just  as 
happy  with  considerably  less.  In  fact,  I'd  never 
know  the  difference  except  on  paper.  It  wouldn't 
alter  my  mode  of  living  one  iota.  I  would  live  in 
the  same  house,  have  the  same  furniture,  the  same 
horses  and  carriages,  the  same  number  of  servants. 
Besides,  I  am  interested  in  your  scheme  and  want 
to  see  it  succeed.  Not  for  your  own  sake  alone,  but 
because  it  would  gratify  me  immeasurably  to  know 
that  even  indirectly  I  was  instrumental  in  abolishing 
the  slaughter  of  birds  for  ornamental  purposes.  So, 
my  dear  Laura,  instead  of  being  under  obligations, 
you  may  consider  that  you  are  doing  me  a  favor  by 
enabling  me  to  invest  some  of  my  superfluous  gold 
in  a  manner  which  pleases  me  immensely.  Further- 
more, you  may  consider  me  your  banker,  and  can 
draw  on  me  whenever  you  like  until  the  venture  is 
on  a  paying  basis." 

From  that  hour  Laura  worked  unceasingly,  and 
six  weeks  from  the  day  she  projected  her  plan  to 
Mrs.  Vernoyse  the  new  "  Floral  Millinery  Em- 
porium" was  ready  for  a  grand  opening.  Cards  of 
invitation  had  been  extensively  circulated  among 
the  elite.  Mrs.  Norman  Burton  had  received  one 
and  on  the  day  named  she  and  her  daughters  pre- 
sented themselves  with  scores  of  others  at  the 
"  Grand  Opening." 

Madame  Dupont — a  handsome,  vivacious  French 
woman,  the  ostensible  head  of  the  establishment, 
came  forward  clad  in  trailing  robes  and  graciously 
received  her  guests.     Madame  in  herself  was  a 


90 


Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred. 


drawing  card.  Her  manner  was  enchanting,  her 
costume  a  dream-like  combination  of  French  art. 
Moreover,  she  knew  her  part  well,  and  possessed  the 
originality  and  tact  to  play  it  successfully. 

The  floral  display  was  one  of  the  finest  ever  wit- 
nessed in  xhe  history  of  millinery.  The  ribbons, 
laces  and  ornaments  were  the  finest  of  importations, 
while  the  magnificent  plumes  and  tips  artistically 
arranged  were  quite  the  centre  of  attraction.  Sud- 
denly it  was  observed  that  not  a  bird  or  wing  was 
visible  in  the  otherwise  faultless  combinations  ex- 
hibited. Then  madame  smilingly  explained  that 
they  were  losing  favor  ;  they  were  too  suggestive  of 
Indian  adornments  and  savage-like  relics  to  be 
permissible  among  her  most  perfect  display,  and 
that  the  ornaments  exhibited  were  in  far  better  taste 
than  stuffed  birds.  Madame  was  very  magnetic  ; 
her  tone  though  low  was  forceful  and  convincing. 
Mrs.  Clarence  Montague  was  a  ready  convert. 

"I  have  always  contended  that  it  was  not  in  good 
taste  to  wear  birds,"  she  cried  triumphantly  to 
several  of  her  friends  standing  near,  "  and  I  am 
really  glad  the  fashion  is  to  become  obsolete,  the 
sooner  the  better." 

"And  so  am  I,"  said  Mrs.  Archibald  Vernoyse. 
"  It  will  stop  the  slaughter  of  myriads  of  song-birds 
which  heretofore  have  been  sacrificed  to  woman's 
vanity." 

"  When  I  was  a  girl,"  added  Mrs.  William  Olney 
Marvin,  "  Mr.  Bryan,  my  foster  father,  objected  to 
the  custom  from  the  fact  that  it  caused  thousands 


Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred. 


91 


of  birds  to  be  destroyed  every  year,  and  in  sight 
and  hearing  of  their  young  that  were  left  in  their 
nests  to  die  ;  consequently  I  have  never  worn  either 
birds  or  wings." 

"Well,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Montague,  ".I  move 
that  we  denounce  the  custom  as  semi-barbaric,  and 
let  it  die  a  natural  death — no  more  birds  for  me  !  " 
And  Mrs.  Clarence  Montague  felt  quite  elated  in 
the  thought  of  having  originated  a  brilliant  idea. 

14 1  have  worn  birds  and  wings  all  my  life,"  ad- 
mitted Miss  Madeline  Bronson  to  Mrs.  Montague, 
"  but  I  did  it  unwittingly.  Never  for  one  moment 
have  I  realized  until  now  the  cruel  industry  I  was 
encouraging,  and  I  am  glad  that  my  attention  has 
been  called  to  it." 

"  The  ball  has  been  set  rolling,"  Mrs.  Vernoyse 
managed  to  say  in  an  aside  to  Laura,  "  and  I  shall 
give  it  a  gentle  push  now  and  then  to  keep  it 
moving." 

"People  are  not  altogether  heartless,"  returned 
Laura.  "They  are  thoughtless,  and  when  once 
aroused  to  the  fact  they  endeavor  to  atone." 

Madame  Dupont  was  quite  delighted  that  one  of 
her  most  extensive  orders  that  day  was  from  Mrs. 
Norman  Burton.  Mrs.  Vernoyse  also  left  a  large 
order.  Then  they  flew  in  thick  and  fast  and  the 
"  Opening"  was  a  grand  success. 

During  the  drive  home  Mrs.  Burton  commented 
favorably  upon  this  new  epoch  in  millinery. 

"  I  quite  approve  of  it,"  she  said.  "Madame 
Dupont' s  scheme  is  really  a  laudable  one  and  she 


92         Some  oj  New  York's  Four  Hundred. 

can  rely  on  my  patronage  and  all  that  I  can  in- 
fluence." 

"  What  scheme  do  you  refer  to?"  asked  Helen. 

"Why,  it  is  rumored,"  replied  Mrs.  Burton, 
"  that  Madame  is  a  very  rich  woman.  A  Baltimore 
society  woman  in  fact,  and  an  active  member  of 
the  Woman's  Branch  of  the  Humane  Society  there. 
Being  a  philanthropist  she  has  come  to  New  York 
incognito  and  opened  the  Emporium  for  the  express 
purpose  of  making  the  wearing  of  birds  unfashion- 
able." 

"  I  wonder  if  that  story  be  true?"  asked  Helen. 

"  I  don't  doubt  it,"  replied  Mrs.  Burton.  "  She 
is  certainly  no  ordinary  tradeswoman.  She  is  de- 
cidedly cultured  and  high-bred  both  in  looks  and 
manner." 

"  Who  told  you  about  her?"  asked  Laura. 

"No  one  told  me,  but  I  overheard  Gertrude 
Wellington  mention  the  fact  to  Beatrice  Raymond. 
In  any  event  Madame  Dupont  has  opened  under 
brilliant  auspices ;  other  establishments  of  less  im- 
portance will  be  sure  to  follow  her  innovation  and 
ultimately  her  aim  will  be  accomplished." 

Laura  was  delighted  to  hear  her  mother's  opinion 
so  frankly  expressed  ;  but  in  her  heart  she  knew — 
strange  and  unnatural  as  it  may  seem — that  had  her 
mother  suspected  that  she  was  the  sole  promoter  of 
it  all  no  word  of  commendation  would  have  been 
uttered.  She  was  also  amused  at  the  little  romance 
surrounding  Madame  Dupont  ,  and  secretly  wondered 
at  its  origin.    The  truth  of  the  matter  was,  Mrs. 


Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred.  93 


Vernoyse,  being  a  shrewd  and  worldly-wise  woman, 
knew  that  a  little  mystery  always  adds  spice,  and  a 
word  dropped  here  and  there  exaggerated  by  fre- 
quent repetition  soon  had  the  desired  effect.  Madame 
speedily  became  a  heroine ;  a  woman  who  had  re- 
nounced a  brilliant  social  career  to  begin  a  crusade 
against  the  wanton  destruction  of  birds.  She  be- 
came exceedingly  popular  among  her  patrons  and 
the  "  Emporium's  "  prospective  future  looked  bright 
indeed. 


CHAPTER  X. 


VERY  Monday  morning  Laura  visited 
"the  Emporium"  to  look  over  the 
accounts  and  to  note  the  increase  in 
business.  She  went  in  a  quiet  way, 
however,  and  remained  obscured  in  an  alcove  back 
of  the  reception  room,  which  was  screened  by  hand- 
some portieres.  No  one  connected  with  the  estab- 
lishment, aside  from  Madame  Dupont,  knew  her 
name  or  where  she  lived.  They  only  knew  her  to 
be  financially  interested  in  the  business. 

The  holiday  trade  far  exceeded  her  expectations, 
and  Madame  assured  her  that  the  establishment 
was  drawing  a  large  proportion  of  the  fashionable 
custom  of  the  city. 

On  the  Monday  morning  after  New  Year's,  Laura 
was  sitting  at  her  desk  in  the  alcove,  when  a  gentle- 
man and  lady  accompanied  by  a  little  girl  of  some 
four  years,  entered  the  place.  The  lady  looked  at 
several  bonnets,  evidently  undecided  as  to  which  she 
preferred.  Finally  the  gentleman  pointed  to  a  com- 
bination of  knots  of  black  velvet  and  yellow  tips 
which  he  seemed  to  admire. 

"  O  Harold  !  "  the  lady  exclaimed,  "  you  know  I 
look  perfectly  dreadful  in  yellow." 

94 


Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred.  95 

"  I  was  not  aware,"  he  returned  gallantly,  "  that 
yon  looked  '  perfectly  dreadful'  in  anything." 

At  the  sound  of  his  voice  Laura  started,  while  a 
deep  color  suffused  her  cheeks.  She  laid  the  account- 
book  aside,  arose  from  her  chair  and  slightly  parted 
the  curtains  so  that  she  could  see  without  being 
seen.  The  gentleman  was  facing  her,  she  had  not 
been  mistaken  —  he  was  Mr.  Cornell. 

"Don't  try  to  flatter  me,  Harold,"  returned  the 
lady  peevishly.  "  I'm  annoyed  beyond  measure  that 
I  must  be  out  bonnet-hunting  at  this  unseasonable 
hour.  I  wish  I'd  never  heard  of  that  reception.  I 
know  it  will  be  a  terrible  bore." 

"Don't  blame  me,  Pauline,"  he  replied  meekly. 
" 1  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  reception,  and  inas- 
much as  the  invitation  was  delayed,  if  I  felt  as  you 
do  about  it  I  certainly  would  not  go." 

"  It's  very  easy  to  talk,"  she  replied  impatiently, 
"  but  one  is  often  compelled  to  do  things  against 
one's  inclination." 

"  Yes,"  he  replied,  "I  admit  that  society  is  a 
rather  tyrannical  dictator." 

The  lady  finally  selected  an  exquisite  Parisian 
conception  of  jet  and  pink  tips.  "  I  will  take  this 
one,"  she  said  to  the  attendant,  "  but  I  wish  it 
slightly  altered.  Remove  the  pink  tips  and  substi- 
tute some  of  pale  lavender  ;  and  add  a  pretty  bird  of 
some  kind  which  harmonizes  in  color.  Or  you  may 
show  me  your  assortment,  I  will  select  one  myself." 

"We  have  no  birds  in  stock,"  returned  the 
attendant  politely. 


96         Some  of  Xeiv  York's  Four  Hundred. 


"What,  no  birds?"  she  asked  in  amazement. 
Evidently  this  was  her  first  visit  to  the  Emporium. 
"I  thought  this  establishment  had  but  recently 
opened,"  she  continued;  "if  so  it  has  run  out  of 
stock  rather  soon  for  a  place  of  its  pretentions." 

At  that  moment  Madame  Dupont  approached  and 
in  her  most  engaging  manner  assured  her  customer 
that  nothing  in  the  line  of  birds  was  permissible, 
they  being  decidedly  j^ssi. 

"I  see  them  in  other  establishments,"  was  the 
somewhat  haughty  rejoinder. 

Madame  smiled  benignly.  "At  present,  yes," 
she  replied  with  wonderful  complaisance,  "but  if 
you  will  observe  later  you  may  find  my  statement 
quite  correct."  Then  Madame  bowed  gracefully 
and  turned  away. 

"  If  birds  are  becoming  unfashionable,  I  certainly 
don't  want  them,"  the  lady  muttered.  To  the  attend- 
ant she  said  :  "  Very  well,  I  will  take  this,  with  the 
alterations  already  named,  except  the  bird.  And 
have  it  sent  home  before  three  o'clock  this  after- 
noon. You  had  better  make  a  note  of  the  order," 
she  said  rather  imperiously,  "as  it  is  important." 

The  attendant  produced  au  order-book,  wrote 
what  was  required,  then  politely  asked  the  address. 

"  I  will  write  it  myself,"  the  lady  replied  ;  "  then 
I  shall  know  there  is  no  mistake."  Taking  the 
book  and  pencil  she  wrote  her  name  and  address  in 
a  bold  dashing  hand. 

"  Be  prompt,"  she  said,  "and  have  this  at  my 
house  by  three  o'clock  sharp.    Now,  Harold,  we 


Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred.  97 


must  be  expeditious  ;  I  have  several  other  matters 
to  attend  to." 

"Come,  Gracie,"  said  Mr.  Cornell,  addressing 
the  child,  who  was  a  striking  likeness  of  himself. 
The  child  clasped  his  hand  lovingly,  then  Laura 
saw  them  enter  the  waiting  carriage  and  drive 
away. 

She  turned  from  the  portieres  and  again  sat 
down.  Her  face  was  strangely  pale.  Mechanically 
she  took  up  the  weekly  statement  and  for  a  long 
time  stared  vacantly  at  the  column  of  entries  before 
her.  Suddenly  an  eager  look  came  to  her  eyes,  a 
flush  to  her  cheeks.  She  rose  hurriedly,  and  going 
to  the  reception-room  withdrew  the  order-book  from 
a  drawer  and  with  trembling  hands  turned  to  the 
last  order  written.  Alas  !  the  address  read,  "  Mrs. 
H.  L.  Cornell,  No.  —  West  57th  St." 

"MrSoH.  L.  Cornell,'-'  she  repeated  with  white 
lips.  How  well  she  remembered  when  Lillian  had 
commented  unfavorably  on  those  same  initials. 
How  indifferent  she  had  been  then,  how  they  burned 
into  her  brain  now.  Returning  to  the  alcove  she 
leaned  wearily  upon  the  desk  in  front  of  her.  An 
hour  passed,  then  she  sent  for  Madame  Dupont. 

"Madame,"  she  said,  "I  am  feeling  quite  ill 
this  morning  and  have  not  properly  looked  over  the 
accounts,  but  will  try  to  attend  to  them  to-morrow." 

On  reaching  home  luncheon  was  being  served. 
As  soon  afterwards  as  she  could  find  excuse  to  do 
so  she  sought  her  own  apartments,  closed  the  door 
and  turned  the  key. 


98        Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred. 


"Alone  at  last!  what  a  relief!  What  an  ordeal 
this  day  has  been  for  me  !  " 

She  slowly  walked  the  length  of  the  room.  Her 
hands  were  clasped,  her  face  looked  white  and 
pained. 

"  How  I  have  longed  to  see  him  !"  she  exclaimed. 
"How  constantly  he  has  been  in  my  thoughts  from 
the  hour  we  parted  that  morning  when  he  gave  me 
the  autumn  leaves.  Alas  !  I  have  seen  him,  and 
how  ?  What  a  discovery  !  What  a  humiliation  !  I 
love  him ;  I  love  him  dearly ;  I  never  knew  how 
dearly  until  to-day,  and  he  has  a  wife — a  wife  and 
child." 

She  suddenly  burst  into  tears. 

"  It  is  cruel,  cruel,"  she  sobbed.  "Why  did  the 
Fates  permit  it.  He  is  the  only  man  I  ever  cared 
for,  and  I  have  given  him  my  wThole  affection  un- 
asked— unsought.  And  I  was  so  sure  he  loved  me  ; 
howr  blind  I  have  been  ;  how  self -deceived."  She 
sank  into  a  chair  utterly  undone.  "Yes,"  she 
moaned,  "  I,  Laura  Burton,  am  in  love  with  a  mar- 
ried man,  and  that  handsome  blonde  with  the  cold 
blue  eyes,  yellow  hair  and  imperious  tone,  is  his 
wife." 

Then  feelings  of  indignation  and  resentment 
against  the  author  of  her  misery  possessed  her. 

"He  had  no  right,"  she  exclaimed,  "to  palm 
himself  off  for  an  unmarried  man.  Why  did  he 
always  manage  to  join  me  in  my  rambles  ?  Why 
call  so  often  at  ' Wildwood'  ?  Why  lunch  and  dine 
with  us  so  often  and  show  by  his  manner  that  it 


Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred.  99 


was  I,  whom  he  came  to  see?  And  that  moonlight 
night  on  the  piazza,  whore  was  his  wife  then?  "Why 
did  he  never  refer  to  her?  Did  he  purposely  lead 
me  to  infer  that  he  was  unmarried?  If  so,  why? 
Did  he  not  know  that  eventually  the  fact  would  be- 
come known  ?  It  can  be  no  secret ;  he  goes  about 
with  her  openly,  consequently  the  world  must  know 
even  if  we  his  neighbors  did  not." 

Laura  meditated  over  the  matter  long  and  earnest- 
ly but  could  find  no  reasonable  excuse  for  the 
course  Mr.  Cornell  had  taken.  Every  little  incident 
in  connection  with  their  acquaintance  only  made 
her  the  more  indignant.  Her  feelings  were  out- 
raged, her  pride  humbled.  She  felt  that  she  dis- 
liked and  despised  him  as  thoroughly  as  she  had 
loved  him.  But  she  did  not.  Affection  in  a  nature 
like  Laura  Burton's  is  not  so  easily  uprooted. 

After  mentally  denouncing  him  as  being  unjust 
and  dishonorable  until  her  fiercest  indignation  was 
exhausted,  then,  woman-like,  she  began  to  palliate 
his  offence  and  take  the  blame  to  herself. 

4 'No,"  she  decided,  "he  is  not  so  much  at  fault  as 
I  at  first  thought.  He  never  uttered  one  word  to 
which  I  can  take  exception  ;  he  was  always  courteous 
and  friendly,  nothing  more.  He  sent  Lillian  on  ahead 
that  morning  after  butterflies  because  her  ceaseless 
chatter  and  persistent  questioning  annoyed  him. 
But  after  she  had  left  us  alone  he  said  nothing  which 
even  suggested  the  slightest  iuterest  in  me  other  than 
friendly.  His  look,  which  I  construed  as  expressing 
affection  for  me,  must  have  been  pure  imagination 


100      Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred. 


on  my  part.  He  came  to  'Wildwood'  often  I  ad- 
mit, but  mother  and  Lillian  urged  him  to  do  so  and 
he  complied,  the  same  as  any  friendly  neighbor 
would  have  done.  Probably  he  only  intended  to 
show  me  the  preference  which,  as  Miss  Burton,  he 
considered  my  due,  and  I  unwisely  fell  in  love  with 
him,  but  that  was  not  his  fault,  and  wishing  him  to 
be  in  love  with  me,  I  was  foolish  enough  to  believe 
that  he  was.  As  for  never  referring  to  his  wife, 
perhaps  he  had  good  reasons  for  not  doing  so. 
There  may  have  been  some  misunderstanding  be- 
tween them  at  the  time,  and  he  refrained  from 
mentioning  her,  as  it  would  require  an  explanation.'* 

On  this  line  of  reasoning  Laura  absolved  Mr. 
Cornell  from  all  blame,  and  resolved  to  bury  her 
summer's  romance  and  no  one  be  the  wiser." 

"  No  one  but  myself,''  she  muttered,  "lam 
wiser  certainly.  I  have  learned  a  bitter  lesson  ;  a 
lesson  which  will  last  me  through  life.  And  now  I 
shall  try  to  forget  him,  or  at  least  school  myself  to 
remember  him  only  as  a  pleasant  summer  acquain- 
tance." 

The  next  day  Laura  went  to  the  Emporium  to 
complete  her  unfinished  task.  The  hour  being  later 
than  usual  she  found  the  place  filled  with  customers. 
Several  among  them  recognized  her.  She  chatted 
a  moment,  then  proceeded  to  examine  a  new  display 
of  reception  bonnets  as  critically  as  though  she 
were  there  to  select  one.  Soon  Miss  Persis  Hunt- 
ington, an  intimate  friend,  entered  the  Emporium. 

4 'Why  Laura  Burton  I"  she  cried  gladly  ;  "lam 


Some  of  Xew  York's  Four  Hundred.  101 


delighted  to  find  you  here.  Do  help  me  please  to 
select  a  pretty  theatre  bonnet." 

While  making  the  selection  Miss  Huntington  re- 
marked that  Madame  Dupont's  bonnets  were  the 
most  exquisite  of  any  she  had  ever  seen  either  at 
home  or  abroad.  "And  Madame  herself  is  lovely," 
she  added.  "It's  a  thousand  pities  she's  only  a 
milliner." 

At  that  moment  Madame  Dupont  entered  the 
room  and  advanced  to  where  they  were  standing. 
Miss  Huntington  made  a  selection,  then  asked 
Laura  which  one  she  was  going  to  choose.  Laura 
was  undecided. 

"  Take  this  one,"  said  Miss  Huntington  pointing 
to  a  combination  of  lace  and  rosebuds;  "it  just 
suits  your  style  and  it  is  perfectly  bewitching." 

"What  is  the  price  of  this?"  asked  Laura  of 
Madame  Dupont. 

"Only  thirty-five  dollars,"  replied  Madame 
quietly,  "  and  it  is  one  of  my  very  latest." 

Laura  demurred. 

"  O  take  it,  do,"  urged  Miss  Huntington;  "  it's 
too  sweet  for  anything." 

"Very  well,"  said  Laura,  turning  to  Madame; 
"  you  may  send  it  to  my  address  —  you  know  it  I 
believe." 

"O  yes — Miss  Burton,  is  it  not?" 

Laura  bowed  and  turned  away.  No  use  to  think 
of  the  accounts  that  morning,  so  she  and  Persis 
Huntington  left  the  place  together.  Laura  disliked 
deception,  and  resolved  never  to  be  placed  in  the 


102       Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred, 

same  position  again,  and  thereafter  when  she  visited 
the  Emporium  it  was  at  an  earlier  hour,  and  before 
the  fashionable  shoppers  were  out. 

At  her  next  visit  Madame  assured  her  that  busi- 
ness was  exceedingly  prosperous  and  that  they  were 
banking  money  in  large  amounts.  Laura  laughingly 
referred  to  the  incident  of  her  last  visit.  "I  admit 
that  it  looked  rather  like  a  business  tactic,"  she 
said,  "  but  it  was  purely  accidental.  I  was  as 
innocent  of  any  complicity  in  the  matter  as  was 
Miss  Huntington." 


CHAPTER  XI. 


RS.  Vernoyse  insisted  that  Laura  should 
take  luncheon  with  her  every  Wednes- 
day, at  which  time  they  would  have 
an  opportunity  to  discuss  anything  of 
interest. 

"Of  course,"  she  added,  "it  is  understood  that 
you  will  continue  to  attend  my  4  At  Homes '  on 
Thursdays,  but  our  Wednesday  luncheons  shall  be 
strictly  private.  I  Mill  be  at  home  to  no  one  else, 
so,  my  dear,  you  must  never  disappoint  me." 

Laura  readily  complied  with  her  request  and  never 
regretted  having  done  so. 

A  week  or  so  after  her  discovery  concerning  Mr. 
Cornell,  on  presenting  herself  in  Mrs.  Vernoyse' 
boudoir,  that  lady  scrutinized  her  critically  over 
her  eye-glasses,  then  rather  brusquely  asked  what 
was  the  matter. 

"Nothing,  I  assure  you,  I  am  quite  well,"  replied 
Laura. 

"Nonsense,  don't  try  to  deceive  these  old  eyes 
of  mine.  They're  as  keen  as  ever,  and  as  far-seeing. 
Anything  amiss  at  the  Emporium?" 

"  Nothing  whatever." 

' '  What  is  it  then  ?  Come,"  she  added  more  gently, 
"  be  frank  with  me.    You  look  troubled.    There  is  a 

103 


104      Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred. 


pathetic,  a  hopeless  sort  of  expression  in  your  eyes 
which  I  never  saw  before.  What  is  the  cause  of 
it?" 

14 1  am  somewhat  annoyed  this  morning,  I  admit," 
said  Laura,  u  though  not  to  the  extent  you  imagine." 

64  Ah  !  I  thought  so.  We  are  coming  to  it.  Well, 
proceed." 

"  Several  times  of  late  I  have  been  overtaken  by 
inclement  weather  and  have  been  compelled  to  hire 
a  carriage  to  take  me  home,  which  fact  has  caused 
my  mother  to  wonder.  Yesterday  she  asked  me 
outright  from  what  source  I  was  drawing  money.  I 
told  her  that  you  had  made  me  a  loan.  She  asked 
how  and  when  I  ever  expected  to  repay  you.  I 
replied  that  if  I  ever  could  do  so  I  would.  But  if  I 
could  not,  that  you  would  either  cancel  my  obliga- 
tion or  give  me  a  receipted  bill." 

"  What  did  she  say  to  that?" 

"  She  said  but  little  concerning  the  loan  direct, 
but  was  very  indignant  and  upbraided  me  severely 
for  having  told  you  that  my  allowance  was  with- 
held." 

"  She  did?  Indeed !  I  suppose  she  thinks  it  quite 
right  and  proper  to  treat  you  like  a  weak-minded 
child,  but  quite  wrong  and  improper  for  you  to  be- 
tray her  treatment.  Well,  your  mother  should  not 
do  that  which  would  condemn  her  if  disclosed." 

Mrs.  Vernoyse  was  silent  for  awhile,  then  rather 
startled  Laura  by  saying  :  "  The  day  after  to-mor- 
row I  shall  call  upon  your  mother  in  your  behalf, 
and  have  an  understanding." 


Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred.  105 


Laura  protested,  but  Mrs.  Vernoyse  unheedingly 
continued  :  "  My  dear  girl,  you  know  that  1  have 
always  been  exceedingly  fond  of  you  from  the  time 
you  wore  pinafores — more  fond  of  you  than  of  any 
one  else,  and  I  am  going  to  tell  you  why." 

She  suddenly  paused,  while  tears  dimmed  her 
eyes.  She  was  thinking  of  a  time  in  the  past,  and 
the  memory  affected  her. 

"Many  years  ago,"  she  proceeded  gently,  UI 
lost  my  only  child — my  little  Laura,  three  years  old. 
She  was  my  idol,  my  all ;  and  losing  her  nearly 
broke  my  heart.  It  seemed  as  if  I  could  not  have  it 
so  ;  as  if  I  could  not  give  her  up.  Only  a  few  weeks 
after  she  died,  and  while  my  heart  was  an  aching 
void,  I  saw  you.  You  were  about  her  own  age, 
you  bore  her  name,  and  you  resembled  her  with  your 
dark  eyes  and  bonny  brown  hair.  My  heart  went 
out  to  you  at  once.  '  I  longed  to  clasp  you  in  my 
arms,  hold  you  there  forever,  and  make  myself  be- 
lieve that  you  were  my  lost  darling  returned  to  me. 
In  my  grief  and  loneliness  I  begged  your  parents  to 
let  me  have  you,  but  they  refused.  They  both  sym- 
pathized with  me  in  my  sorrow,  but  your  father  said 
that  parting  with  his  little  Laura  would  be  like  part- 
ing with  life.  But  I  often  saw  you,  and  as  you 
grew  older  and  your  character  formed  I  remained  as 
fondly  attached  to  you  as  ever.  Now  I  am  going  to 
admit  to  you  that  at  times  I  experience  great  heart 
difficulty.  I  know  that  I  am  liable  to  drop  off  any 
hour,  although  my  physician  says  I  may  live  for 
years  to  come.    However,  I  am  philosophical  about 


106       Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred. 


it  and  merely  wish  to  prepare  for  the  worst.  Of 
course  my  money  will  fall  to  some  one,  and  natur- 
ally I  have  a  choice  in  the  matter  and  my  choice  is 
yourself,  and — " 

44 O  Mrs.  Vernoyse," interposed  Laura,  "you  can- 
not— " 

44  O  yes  I  can  !"  interrupted  that  lady  emphati- 
cally. "  I  can  do  exactly  as  I  choose  with  my  own, 
and  I  choose  to  make  you  my  heir,  the  same  as  I 
would  have  done  with  my  own  little  Laura  had  she 
lived." 

Laura  was  quite  overcome,  but  Mrs.  Vernoyse 
would  not  permit  her  to  say  one  word  on  the  sub- 
ject. 

44  Never  mind  about  expressing  your  thanks  and 
gratitude,"  she  said.  44 1  know  you  appreciate  my 
intentions,  and  I,  on  the  other  hand  appreciate  the 
fact  that  after  I  am  dead  my  money  will  not  be 
squandered  by  frivolous-minded  people,  but  will  be 
used  in  a  manner  pleasing  to  me.  Now  Laura,  tell 
me  what  is  troubling  you.  I'm  sure  it's  something 
more  than  the  mere  fact  of  your  mother  knowing 
that  I  let  you  have  money.  It's  no  love  affair  I 
hope." 

44  No  indeed  !"  was  the  decided  answer.  "I  love 
no  one,  no  man  at  least,  and  I  am  equally  sure  no 
man  loves  me." 

44  Perhaps  it's  just  as  well,"  said  Mrs.  Vernoyse, 
44  for  if  such  were  the  case  I  imagine  there  would  be 
war  in  the  camp  in  earnest  when  the  fact  became 
known  to  your  mother.    It's  a  queer  whim  of  ners, 


Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred.  107 


this  determination  to  keep  yon  all  with  her  as  long 
as  she  lives.  It's  well  enough  while  you're  young, 
but  if  she  has  her  way  she'll  be  surrounded  by  a 
couple  of  old  maids  and  perhaps  a  crusty  old  bache- 
lor one  of  these  days." 

"  I  hope  she  will  never  have  occasion  to  regret 
her  determination,"  said  Laura. 

"As  for  Edmund  and  Helen,"  continued  Mrs. 
Vernoyse,  "they  can  look  after  their  own  interests 
to  the  best  of  their  ability  ;  I  am  not  particularly 
interested  in  them,  but  I  intend  to  arrange  things 
so  that  your  future  will  be  assured  no  matter  what 
you  may  decide  to  do.  The  time  may  come  when 
you  will  wish  to  leave  the  maternal  nest  and  fly  to  a 
home  of  your  own.  Then  your  mother  might  be 
sufficiently  disagreeable  to  disinherit  you.  But  I 
feel  confident  that  you  will  never  make  the  error  of 
falling  in  love  with  an  unworthy  man." 

Laura  winced.  It  seemed  a  cruel  fatality  that 
her  first  experience  had  been  so  grave  an  error. 

"  I  was  a  girl  myself  once,"  Mrs.  Vernoyse  went 
on,  "  and  my  parents  had  rigid  notions  concerning 
me.  They  would  have  selfishly  kept  me  in  a  glass 
case  if  they  could  until  I  was  past  all  hope  of  being 
sought ;  and  had  they  succeeded  I  probably  would 
have  been  a  disappointed  and  unhappy  old  woman 
to-day.  But  I  wouldn't  be  kept  in  their  glass  case  ; 
I  shivered  it,  so  to  speak,  and  wedded  Archibald 
Vernoyse,  and  I've  never  regretted  it  although  he 
left  me  a  widow  many  years  ago." 

Two  days  later  Mrs.  Vernoyse  called  on  Mrs. 


108       Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred. 

Burton  according  to  agreement  with  Laura.  Mrs. 
Burton's  brows  slightly  elevated  when  the  servant- 
handed  in  her  card,  and  she  made  seme  caustic 
remark  to  the  effect  of  herself  being  honored  instead 
of  Laura. 

Evidently  the  call  was  of  special  importance,  from 
the  fact  that  it  lengthened  into  an  hour.  Then 
Mrs.  Burton  sent  for  her  daughters.  Mrs.  Vernoyse 
greeted  Laura  warmly,  Helen  with  formal  politeness. 

u  Mrs.  Vernoyse  has  called  principally  in  your 
interest  to-day,  Laura,"  said  Mrs.  Burton  coldly, 
directly  the  girls  were  seated.  "  She  evidently  thinks 
I  am  severe  in  my  treatment  of  you.  On  one  point, 
however,"  she  continued,  addressing  Mrs.  Vernoyse 
direct,  "  I  must  remain  firm,  for  I  cannot  and  will 
not  permit  Laura  to  use  my  money  in  the  manner 
she  was  doing  previous  to  my  withholding  her 
allowance." 

"  My  dear  Mrs.  Burton,"  said  Mrs.  Vernoyse 
calmly,  "  your  money  is  your  own  to  dispose  of  as 
you  see  fit,  and  I  do  not  presume  to  dictate.  I 
merely  stated  that  you  do  not  sufficiently  appreciate 
Laura's  noble  intentions.  Humanity  as  a  rule  is 
selfish.  Girls  possessed  of  her  qualities  are  rare, 
and  I  believe  she  should  be  encouraged,  rather  than 
have  her  opinious  ignored  or  set  aside.  But  enough 
has  been  said  on  that  subject.  The  point  is  this  : 
it  is  objectionable  to  you  to  have  }Tour  money  spent 
in  the  manner  she  prefers.  Your  objections  are 
sustained.  But  it  is  not  objectionable  to  me  to  have 
mine  spent  in  that  way,  and  I  have  this  day  made 


Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred. 


109 


her  my  heir.  My  last  act  before  driving  here  from 
my  lawyer's  office  was  to  sign  my  will,  made  princi- 
pally in  her  favor." 

This  announcement  was  indeed  startling.  Mrs. 
Burton  finally  asked  why  Laura  had  been  made  the 
recipient  of  so  magnanimous  a  favor. 

"Because,"  was  the  prompt  reply,  "  she  is  the 
most  worthy  person  of  my  acquaintance.  My  dear," 
she  added,  turning  to  Laura,  "  on  the  first  day  of 
each  month  during  my  life  you  will  receive  five  hun- 
dred dollars  to  use  in  your  own  way.  At  my 
death  you  will  receive  the  bulk  of  my  property ;  all 
in  fact,  with  the  exception  of  a  few  bequests  to  old 
and  faithful  servants,  twelve  thousand  a  year  to  an 
orphanage  I  am  interested  in,  and  a  few  thousand 
each  to  a  couple  of  frivolous  nieces  whom  I  most  cor- 
dially dislike.  A  few  other  charities  will  be  found  in 
my  will,  which  shall  be  entrusted  to  you  as  sole  execu- 
trix. You  will  have  my  blessing  as  well,  and  so  will  the 
unfortunate  people  and  defenceless  dumb  creatures 
which  I  know  you  will  bring  comfort  to  and  protect." 

Mrs.  Vernoyse  rose,  bade  a  hasty  adieu  and 
escaped  to  her  carriage. 

Helen  evidently  felt  the  influence  of  the  green- 
eyed  monster.  Mrs.  Burton  realized  that  her  auto- 
cratic power  over  Laura  was  at  an  end  ;  Laura  was 
entirely  independent  of  her,  legally  and  financially, 
if  she  chose  to  assert  her  independence. 

An  hour  or  two  later  a  messenger  called  with  a 
note  for  Laura.  Exercising  her  maternal  prerog- 
ative Mrs.  Burton  opened  it  and  read  : 


110       Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred. 


"  My  dear  Laura  : — Should  your  mother  be  dis- 
pleased because  of  my  voluntary  act  and  hereafter 
refuse  to  provide  the  needful,  inform  me  at  once 
and  your  monthly  allowance  will  be  doubled. 

Sincerely  yours, 

EUTOLA  VeRXOYSE." 

Laura  was  not  made  "  purse-proud  "  by  her  good 
fortune,  nevertheless  it  gave  her  a  feeliug  of  ease 
and  intense  satisfaction. 

Early  in  February  Mrs.  Burton  received  cards  of 
imitation  for  herself  and  family  to  attend  a  musi- 
cale  at  Mrs.  Winfield  Cameron's  on  the  evening  of 
St.  Valentine's  day,  and  the  invitation  was  accepted. 

Mrs.  Winfield  Cameron's  musicales  were  very  de- 
lightful affairs  and  somewhat  distinctive,  the  pro- 
grammes being  original  with  the  hostess.  The  talent 
on  these  occasions  was  the  best  that  could  be 
secured.  After  the  music  refreshments  were  served, 
then  the  guests  assembled  in  the  ball-room  for  one 
hour  of  dancing.  At  the  expiration  of  that  time 
their  carriages  were  promptly  at  the  door,  it  being  a 
well-established  fact  that  Mrs.  Cameron  objected  to 
late  hours. 

The  ball-room  for  St.  Valentine's  musicale  was 
most  beautifully  decorated  and  the  floral  designs 
were  exceediugly  unique.  Laura  was  attracted  to 
one  representing  a  folded  valentine  of  mammoth 
size  resting  on  an  onyx  pedestal.  On  turning  away 
after  admiring  it  she  suddenly  started,  flushed,  then 
paled  ;  for  slowly  advancing  toward  her  was  Mr. 


Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred.  Ill 

Harold  Cornell.  Evidently  he  had  not  seen  her, 
and  she  earnestly  hoped  that  he  would  turn  aside 
and  she  escape  unnoticed.  But  he  came  directly 
toward  her.  A  dazed  feeling  took  possession  of 
her;  she  longed  to  flee,  to  sink  from  sight,  but  that 
was  impossible.  The  next  moment  he  raised  his 
eyes  and  saw  her.  His  face  lighted,  and  he  stepped 
eagerly  forward. 

kk  Miss  Burton,  this  is  indeed  a  pleasure  ;  it  seems 
ages  since  I  saw  you." 

A  volume  of  confused  words  rushed  to  her  mind 
but  they  remained  unuttered.  Quickly  re-asserting 
herself  she  laughed  lightly. 

u  Not  ages,"  she  replied,  "  although  it  has  been 
some  time  since  we  left  '  Wild  wood.'  Have  you 
been  spending  the  winter  in  town,  Mr.  Cornell  ?  " 

"  Only  a  few  weeks  of  it ;  I  have  been  in  Florida 
most  of  the  time.  However,  I  found  opportunity 
to  call  upon  you  twice  but  on  both  occasions  you 
were  not  at  home." 

"Indeed,  I  was  not  aware  that  you  had  called. 
Strange  my  mother  or  sister  never  mentioned  it." 

"  I  did  not  see  them,  and  I  doubt  if  they  knew. 
When  the  footman  said  you  were  out  I  merely  left 
my  card." 

"  My  being  out  should  have  made  no  difference," 
she  returned,  while  the  color  deepened  in  her  cheeks. 
"  My  mother  would  have  been  pleased  to  see  you  I 
am  sure.  By  the  way,  your  youthful  admirer,  Miss 
Lillian,  often  speaks  of  you  and  regrets  that  her 
delightful  walks  are  a  thing  of  the  past." 


112       Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred. 


"And  you?"  be  asked,  giving  her  a  quick  look. 

She  smiled  indifferently.  "I?  O,  I  enjoyed 
them  thoroughly.  I  am  an  ardent  admirer  of  rural 
scenery,  and  the  scenery  surrounding  'Wildwood'  is 
charming.  Besides,  I  take  great  pleasure  in  Lil- 
lian's happiness." 

A  look  of  disappointment  came  to  his  eyes. 
"Lillian  is  quite  an  interesting  character,"  he  said. 
"  I  am  very  fond  of  children,  and  am  glad  she  re- 
members me  so  kindly.  The  innocence  and  frank- 
ness of  childhood  is  indeed  refreshing  after  contact 
with  worldly-wise  people.  If  a  child  likes  you  it 
will  not  hesitate  to  let  you  know.  It  is  not  in- 
fluenced by  the  restraint  of  social  customs." 

"In  many  ways  children  have  greater  freedom 
than  grown  people,"  said  Laura,  her  manner  in- 
dicating that  what  he  said  did  not  in  any  way 
apply  to  her. 

"The  last  time  I  saw  either  of  you,"  he  resumed, 
1 '  was  that  morning  in  September  when  I  overtook 
you  with  my  horse.  I  wonder  if  Miss  Lillian  still 
has  the  autumn  leaves  I  gave  her  ?  " 

"I  presume  she  has;  she  admired  them  very 
much." 

"And — I  gave  you  some,  did  I  not?" 

"  Yes — I  believe  you  did  ;  they  were  very  pretty 
too,  if  I  remember." 

Laura  was  entirely  self-possessed ;  no  sign  of 
disquietude  was  visible,  and  her  indifference  was  so 
admirably  assumed  that  no  one  would  have  sus- 
pected she  had  once  shed  tears  over  those  same 


Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred.  113 


leaves  because  of  their  associations.  As  for  Mr. 
Cornell,  lie  was  thoroughly  deceived,  and  thought 
she  had  almost  forgotten  that  he  had  ever  given 
them  to  her.  During  their  conversation  he  men- 
tioned that  he  would  sail  for  London  on  the  follow- 
ing Thursday. 

"Thursday  of  this  week?"  she  asked. 

"  Yes — the  day  after  to-morrow." 

"You  choose  an  unpleasant  time  of  the  year  if  you 
are  going  for  pleasure,"  she  remarked  indifferently. 

"  I  am  going  principally  on  business,"  he  replied, 
"  or  rather  in  the  search  of  some  claims." 

"Ancestral  claims?"  she  asked  smilingly. 

"Yes,  ancestral,"  he  replied,  "although  many 
generations  removed." 

"Are  you  going  alone,  or — " 

She  was  about  to  say  "  does  Mrs.  Cornell 
accompany  you?"  But  suddenly  remembering  that 
he  had  never  even  intimated  having  a  wife,  and  not 
wishing  him  to  think  she  had  been  sufficiently  in- 
terested to  ascertain  the  fact  for  herself,  she  quickly 
added  instead,  "  or  are  you  going  with  a  party  of 
friends  ?  " 

"I  am  going  quite  alone,"  he  answered,  "and  as 
I  go  Thursday  I  would  be  pleased  to  call  on  you 
to-morrow  morning." 

"  My  mother  will  be  delighted  to  see  you,"  she 
replied  frankly.  "  She  has  often  spoken  of  your 
neighborly  kindness  last  summer.  As  for  myself, 
Mr.  Cornell,  I  am  sorry  I  shall  not  be  able  to  see  you. 
I  have  an  engagement  for  luncheon  to-morrow." 


114       Some  of  yew  York's  Four  Hundred. 


Just  then  young  Mr.  Vanderbeck  approached  and 
claimed  her  for  the  next  waltz.  She  bowed  slightly 
to  Mr.  Cornell  and  turned  away,  but  suddenly 
turned  back. 

"  Our  carriage  will  be  waiting  when  this  waltz 
is  ended,"  she- said,  "and  as  I  shall  not  see  you 
again  I  will  say  good-bye  now,  and  wish  you  bon 
voyage."  She  gracefully  gave  him  the  tips  of  her 
fingers,  smiled  friendlily  and  sailed  away  on  young 
Vanderbeck's  arm.  Her  cheeks  were  unnaturally 
flushed,  her  eyes  sparkling,  but  her  evening's 
pleasure  was  ended.  She  conversed  mechanically 
with  her  partner  in  the  dance,  but  was  glad  when  it 
was  finished  for  she  longed  to  be  alone. 

When  in  her  apartments  that  night  a  decided 
change  came  over  her  ;  she  looked  pale  and  dejected. 
"Yes,"  she  moaned,  "  I  love  him  yet;  love  him 
knowing  that  he  has  a  wife.  Am  I  demoralized? 
Am  I  no  longer  the  pure,  high-minded  girl  I  am 
supposed  to  be  ?  Oh  !  why  can  I  not  forget  him  ? 
I  don't  want  to  think  of  him ;  thoughts  of  him  only 
make  me  miserable." 


CHAPTER  XII. 


HE  next  morning  Laura  went  to  Mrs. 
Vernoyse  earlier  than  usual.    "  If  I 
am  not  intruding,"  she  said,  "  and  if 
you  want  me  I  will  spend  the  day 
with  you." 

Mrs.  Vernoyse  did  want  her  and  she  remained, 
returning  home  only  in  time  for  their  seven  o'clock 
dinner.  Then  she  ascertained  that  Mr.  Cornell  had 
not  called. 

"  Why  did  he  not  call  to  see  mother,  and  Helen, 
and  Lillian?"  she  questioned.  "Why  should  he 
ask  for  a  confidential  visit  with  me  ?  Is  it  possible 
he  cares  for  me?  If  so,  he  should  have  sense 
enough  to  shun  my  society  and  not  encourage  such 
a  sentiment." 

The  next  morning  after  the  sailing  hour  had 
passed  for  the  steamer  on  which  Mr.  Cornell  was  to 
embark,  Laura  burst  into  tears.  But  she  tried  to 
believe  they  were  only  from  wounded  pride  because 
he  had  deceived  her  and  because  he  believed  her  to 
be  deceived  still. 

Some  two  weeks  afterwards  she  received  a  letter 
bearing  a  London  postmark.  The  writing  was  un- 
known, nevertheless  her  hand  trembled  as  she  with- 
drew it  from  the  envelope  and  glanced  at  the  signa- 

115 


116       Some  oj  New  York's  Four  Hundred. 

ture,  which  was  "  Harold  L.  Cornell."  The  letter 
ran :  — 

"The  Langham,  London,  March  2d,  18 — . 
Dear  Miss  Burton :  —  If  you  consider  this  a 
liberty  I  beg  that  you  will  pardon  it ;  but  at  all 
hazards  I  am  determined  to  write  you  and  run  the 
chances  of  winning  your  favor  or  disfavor.  You 
have  scarcely  been  out  of  my  thoughts  since  I  saw 
you  last,  and  I  will  frankly  state  that  on  that  occa- 
sion I  was  greatly  disappointed.  I  was  hoping  for 
a  confidential  talk  with  you,  but  circumstances  con- 
spired against  me  ;  what  I  desired  to  say  remained 
unsaid.  And  now  being  unwilling  to  wait  until  I 
return  to  New  York,  I  am  compelled  to  write  that 
which  I  would  much  prefer  and  had  hoped  to  have 
said  to  you. 

They  say  woman's  intuitions  are  keen ;  then  you 
must  know  how  much  I  love  you,  that  I  have  loved 
you  from  the  first  hour  we  met.  I  had  dared  to 
hope  that  in  a  measure  my  affection  was  returned, 
but  that  night  at  Mrs.  Cameron's  musicale  I  fancied 
you  treated  me  indifferently ;  there  was  something 
in  your  manner  that  pained  me  very  much,  and  I 
longed  to  see  you  alone  —  away  from  the  excite- 
ment of  the  ball-room.    But  again  fate  prevented. 

And  now  I  hope  that  you  will  not  keep  me  in 
suspense  but  let  me  know  immediately  that  my  love 
for  you  is  not  in  vain.  If  assured  that  your  feel- 
ings are  responsive  to  my  own,  I  will  write  more 
fully  and  arrange  to  return  early  in  Juno,  and 
establish  myself  at  '  Glenmoyne  '  in  the  hope  of 


Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred.  117 


living  over  again  those  delightful  summer  days 
which  are  now  but  pleasant  memories.  If  you  give 
me  no  hope  I  shall  remain  abroad  during  the  year. 

Until  I  hear  from  you  I  shall  be  in  eager  sus- 
pense. Sincerely  yours, 

Harold  L.  Cornell." 

Laura  folded  the  letter  and  concealed  it  in  her 
desk,  then  sat  down  to  think  it  over.  Her  face  was 
pale  ;  an  angry  light  shone  from  her  eyes. 

"  Was  ever  a  woman  more  insulted  than  he  has 
insulted  me?  "  she  questioned.  "  And  he  does  not 
know  that  I  will  feel  insulted ;  he  believes  that  I 
have  no  knowledge  of  his  wife.  How  depraved  he 
is !  and  I  thought  him  so  gentlemanly,  so  honor- 
able. What  a  revelation  !  "  She  suddenly  sprang 
to  her  feet.  "  Why  do  I  not  hate  him?  "  she  cried. 
"  "Why  has  he  dared  to  make  such  a  proposition  to 
me?  Do  I  hate  him  or  do  I  not?  I  cannot  ana- 
lyze my  feelings.  I  certainly  despise  his  treachery 
and  his  loose  morals  ;  1  have  always  blamed  myself 
for  my  feelings  toward  him,  but  from  now  on  the 
blame  shall  rest  with  him." 

She  suddenly  remembered  his  reply  to  Lillian 
when  asked  if  he  were  married.  He  had  said : 
4 4  Come  to  'Glenmoyne'  as  often  as  you  please, 
there  is  no  Mrs.  Cornell  to  like  or  dislike  your  com- 
ing." His  answer  impressed  her  very  differently 
now  from  what  it  had  then.  "  Yes,"  was  her  ver- 
dict, "I  see  it  all  now,  and  begin  to  understand  his 
motive  for  the  deception." 


118       Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred. 


She  half  resolved  to  write  and  state  unreservedly 
her  opinion  of  his  conduct  and  forbid  him  under 
any  circumstances  to  ever  address  her  again,  either 
verbally  or  by  pen.  Then  she  changed  her  mind 
and  decided  to  treat  both  him  and  his  letter  with 
silent  contempt. 

44  If  I  ever  meet  him,"  she  muttered,  "  I  will  tell 
him  just  what  I  think,  but  I  will  not  implicate  my- 
self by  writing.  The  letter  might  go  astray  or 
fall  into  other  hands,  —  his  wife's,  possibly  —  then 
I  would  be  denounced  for  having  cause  to  write  him 
on  such  grounds." 

Taking  the  letter  from  her  desk  she  tore  it  up, 
threw  the  pieces  into  the  grate  and  watched  them 
turn  into  ashes. 

44  This  is  the  end  of  my  first  love  affair,"  she 
sighed,  "  and  if  Mr.  Cornell  is  a  sample  of  men,  1 
hope  it  will  be  my  last."  Within  the  next  few  days 
something  transpired  to  take  her  mind  for  a  time 
into  another  channel  and  as  early  as  eleven  o'clock 
one  morning  she  rang  the  bell  at  Mrs.  Vernoyse' 
residence.  On  being  ushered  in  she  found  Mrs. 
Vernoyse  dressed  to  go  out. 

44  I  am  sorry  I  have  come  so  inopportunely," 
began  Laura,  44  but  I  felt  that  I  must  consult  with 
you  at  once." 

44  My  dear  Laura,  no  apologies  are  necessary. 
You  know  that  you  are  always  welcome.  But  tell 
me  what  has  developed  now  and  in  what  direction." 

44  In  the  direction  of  the  Emporium."  replied 
Laura. 


/Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred.  119 

44  Humph!  What  need  you  care  for  the  Empo- 
rium, that  is,  so  far  as  it  is  financially  concerned? 
But  what  has  happened  ?  " 

4  *  Am  I  not  detaining  you  ?  I  can  as  well  wait 
until  some  other  time." 

44  No  dear,  I  prefer  to  hear  now.  My  going  out 
is  of  no  great  importance  —  a  few  hours  later  will 
do  as  well,  and  then  if  you  like  you  may  accompany 
me.    Now  tell  me  the  news." 

44 1  have  nothing  to  tell  except  that  my  mother 
has  discovered  everything.  Yesterday  while  at  the 
Emporium  I  stepped  into  the  rear  reception-room  to 
discuss  some  matters  with  Madame  Dupont,  when 
who  should  walk  in  but  my  mother.  It  seems  she 
wished  to  order  something  special  which  was  not 
displayed,  and  the  saleswoman  in  attendance  ushered 
her  into  the  room  to  examine  a  case  of  imported 
goods  just  received,  in  order  to  give  her  the  benefit 
of  a  first  selection." 

44  Quite  a  surprise  to  you,  I  imagine.  What  did 
your  mother  say?" 

44  In  all  probability  she  would  have  thought  my 
errand  similar  to  her  own  had  not  Madame  asked 
my  opinion  on  certain  matters  relating  to  the  busi- 
ness. While  advising  with  her  my  mother  stepped 
directly  in  front  of  me,  a  faint  ironical  smile  visible 
on  her  face.  Then  as  if  suddenly  aware  of  my  pres- 
ence she  stepped  forward  and  spoke  to  me.  I 
returned  her  greeting  and  we  chatted  f riendlily  for  a 
few  moments,  then  left  the  place  together." 

44  And  what  did  Madame  Dupont  say?" 


120       Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred. 


"  Xot  a  word.  She  was  actually  pale,  and  evi- 
dently feared  the  discovery  would  prove  disastrous." 

"  Aud  what  did  your  mother  say  when  you  reached 
the  street  ?  " 

"  She  simply  requested  me  to  drive  home  with 
her,  which  I  did ;  and  during  the  drive  she  never 
referred  to  the  matter.  But  on  reaching  home  she 
promptly  demanded  an  explanation  of  what  she  had 
accidentally  overheard." 

"  Did  you  satisfy  her  demand?  " 

"Completely." 

44  How  did  she  receive  it?  " 

44  She  appeared  more  astonished  than  otherwise, 
and  I  must  say  treated  the  matter  very  differently 
from  what  I  anticipated,  and  from  what  she  would 
have  done  a  few  months  ago." 

44 1  don't  doubt  it,"  returned  Mrs.  Vernoyse  dryly. 
44  She  knows  that  I  will  look  after  your  interests  if 
she  does  not.    Well,  how  did  the  matter  end?" 

44  It  has  not  ended.  She  rather  complimented 
me  for  having  so  successfully  established  so  preten- 
tious an  affair  as  the  Emporium,  and  admitted  that 
my  motive  was  not  only  an  original  but  a  worthy 
one.  Nevertheless,  she  insisted  that  I  should  dis- 
connect myself  with  the  Emporium  at  once,  and 
begged  that  the  fact  of  my  having  been  connected 
with  it  be  kept  secret." 

44  How  does  she  propose  that  you  dispose  of  it? 
Give  it  away  after  all  your  labor  and  trouble  ?  " 

44  O  no.  Within  an  hour  she  went  back  to  see 
Madame,  and  suggested  that  she  buy  the  business." 


Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred.  121 
"  What  did  Madame  say?" 

"  She  said  that  it  was  the  opportunity  of  her  life 
but  she  lacked  the  means.  Then  my  mother  made 
her  two  offers.  One  was  to  loan  her  the  money  to 
buy  the  place  outright,  and  take  a  mortgage  on  the 
stock  ;  the  other  was  for  Madame  to  pay  on  instal- 
ments as  she  could,  she  herself  being  security." 

"  Which  offer  does  Madame  Dupont  favor?  " 

"The  first." 

"  What  is  she  waiting  for?  " 

"  For  my  decision,  and  I  am  awaiting  yours." 

Mrs.  Vernoyse  meditated  a  moment,  then  replied  : 
'•Let  her  have  it.  Your  mother  can  loan  her  the 
money,  take  a  mortgage  and  assume  all  risks.  Then 
Madame  can  pay  you  in  cash  down.  But  listen. 
Tell  Madame  that  she  can  have  the  place  only  on 
condition  that  she  carry  out  your  original  plan  con- 
cerning birds.  Let  her  have  all  at  the  invoice  prices, 
but  have  the  contract  drawn  stipulating  that  it  must 
be  conducted  with  the  same  policy,  and  a  proviso 
that  a  forfeit  of  five  thousand  dollars  will  be  required 
of  her  if  the  contract  is  violated.  And  then  you 
may  consider  yourself  well  out  of  it." 

After  luncheon  Mrs.  Vernoyse  invited  Laura  to 
accompany  her  in  behalf  of  a  pet  scheme  she  had  on 
hand. 

"  I  have  two  of  them,  in  fact,"  she  said.  u  One 
is  the  founding  of  a  Home  for  Children.  The 
other  for  lost  or  homeless  animals.  In  order  to  do 
this  I  have  to  see  two  distinct  classes  of  people. 
One  class  will  do  for  the  children,  but  would  not 


122       Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred. 

discommode  themselves  one  iota  for  unfortunate 
animals.  That  class  I  appeal  to  only  in  behalf  of 
my  Home  for  Children.  It  shall  be  non-sectarian 
and  exclusively  for  the  benefit  of  those  in  need,  be 
they  legitimate  or  otherwise,  having  parents  or 
orphans.  Our  institutions  as  a  rule  consist  of  too 
much  red  tape.  A  poor  mother  taking  a  child  to 
one  of  them  must  give  full  surrender,  and  go  away 
with  an  aching  heart,  knowing  she  will  never  see 
her  darling  again  or  know  its  fate.  It  is  hard  ;  it 
is  cruel.  That  mother  may  love  her  child  as  fondly 
as  rich  mothers  love  theirs,  but  because  she  is  un- 
able to  provide  for  it  she  must  lose  all  trace  forever, 
even  though  later  on  she  may  be  in  better  circum- 
stances and  eager  to  resume  its  care.  Some  insti- 
tutions will  admit  only  illegitimate  children,  others 
will  admit  only  those  under  two  years,  and  so  on. 
My  aim,  however,  is  to  found  a  Home  in  every  way 
comfortable  and  pleasant,  which  shall  be  open  to 
any  child  no  matter  how  young.  Should  the  parents' 
circumstances  become  such  that  they  desire  to  care 
for  the  child  themselves,  they  can  do  so,  providing 
•  they  are  worthy  people  who  will  not  abuse  the  trust. 
Furthermore,  the  parents  will  be  at  liberty  to  visit 
their  children  at  their  own  convenience  instead  of  at 
the  convenience  of  the  institutions.  The  place  will 
be  run  on  humane  principles,  with  no  red  tape,  and 
with  an  utter  lack  of  that  seeming  heartlessness 
which  is  a  characteristic  of  too  many  of  our  chari- 
table institutions. 

"  My  second  scheme  is  to  found  a  home  where 


Some  of  yen-  York's  Four  Hundred. 


123 


lost  or  homeless  animals  may  find  food  and  shelter 
until  the  former  are  claimed  by  their  owners.  They 
will  be  kindly  cared  for  two  weeks  free  of  charge. 
If  within  that  time  they  are  claimed,  all  right,  the 
owners  can  take  them  and  welcome.  If,  however, 
they  are  able  to  pay  and  feel  inclined  to  do  so,  they 
may,  and  all  such  monies  will  go  toward  the  general 
fund.  On  the  other  hand,  all  animals  not  claimed 
within  the  specified  time  belong  to  the  institution. 
Good  homes  will  be  found  for  them  if  possible, 
otherwise  in  time  they  will  be  destroyed  in  a  merci- 
ful way." 

"  What  will  you  do  to-day  toward  promoting 
your  schemes?"  asked  Laura. 

u  I  will  call  upon  a  number  of  ladies  whom  I  hope 
to  interest  and  whose  co-operation  I  hope  to  secure 
as  patronesses.  And  I  shall  be  pleased  to  have 
you  accompany  me." 

Laura  willingly  consented. 

"  We  will  first  see  the  ladies  in  behalf  of  the 
orphan's  home,"  said  Mrs.  Vernoyse ;  "  and  then, 
if  too  late,  we  can  postpone  the  other  matter  until 
to-morrow." 

She  handed  a  list  of  calls  to  her  coachman  and 
they  drove  away.  Ere  long  the  carriage  halted,  and 
Laura  followed  Mrs.  Vernoyse  up  the  steps  of  an 
imposing  brown-stone  residence  without  paying  the 
slightest  heed  as  to  where  they  were.  Their  cards 
were  sent  up  and  they  were  ushered  into  a  reception- 
room.  Soon  the  rustle  of  silken  skirts  was  heard 
descending  the  stairs  and  a  handsomely  attired 


124       Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred. 


woman  entered,  who  greeted  Mrs.  Vernoyse  most 
graciously. 

Laura  involuntarily  started,  for  in  her  she  beheld 
the  woman  whom  she  had  seen  with  Mr.  Cornell ; 
the  woman  whose  face  had  haunted  her  so  many 
weeks.  The  same  blonde  hair,  the  same  steel-blue 
eyes.  The  hostess  turned  to  greet  her,  and  Mrs. 
Vernoyse  confirmed  her  suspicions  by  presenting 
her  to  Mrs.  Cornell.  She  received  the  introduction 
calmly,  then  sank  back  in  her  chair  and  wondered 
what  strange  fatality  had  brought  her  to  that  house. 

Mrs.  Vernoyse  at  once  explained  the  object  of 
her  call,  and  asked  Mrs.  Cornell's  opinion  of  the 
project  she  had  in  view. 

u  I  think  it  a  very  commendable  one  indeed  ;  and 
I  hope  it  may  be  a  grand  success.  It  surely  ought 
to  be  with  Mrs.  Archibald  Vernoyse  to  help  it." 

"  And  with  Mrs.  H.  L.  Cornell's  name  to  head 
the  list,"  returned  Mrs.  Vernoyse  with  equal  flattery. 
"  You  see,"  she  added  facetiously,  "  I  wish  to  give 
your  name  prominence  in  order  that  my  scheme  may 
have  a  good  send-off." 

Mrs.  Vernoyse  had  made  a  diplomatic  stroke. 
She  well  knew  the  weak,  vain  nature  of  the  woman 
with  whom  she  had  to  deal,  and  that  only  by  flattery 
or  device  could  Mrs.  Cornell's  name  be  secured. 
Without  parley  Mrs.  Cornell  put  down  her  name 
for  five  hundred  dollars.  After  expressing  her 
thanks  Mrs.  Vernoyse  rose  to  go  ;  but  Mrs.  Cornell 
insisted  that  she  and  Miss  Burton  remain  and  have 
tea  with  her. 


Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred.  125 


"lam  quite  alone  to-day,"  she  said.  "  My  hus- 
band is  still  in  London  looking  after  those  horrid 
ancestral  claims.  The  children  are  attending  the 
birthday  party  of  a  little  friend.  So  it  would  be  a 
real  blessing  for  you  to  remain.  Besides,  it  is  after 
three  o'clock ;  you  could  do  but  little  in  the  interest 
of  your  orphanage  to-day.  Then  why  not  remain 
and  begin  earlier  to-morrow  ?  " 

Mrs.  Vernoyse  consulted  Laura,  who  she  fully 
expected  on  some  pretext  would  decline,  but  to  her 
surprise  Laura  replied : 

"  I  think  Mrs.  Cornell  is  quite  right.  It  is  rather 
late,  and  having  made  so  good  a  beginning  you  can 
well  afford  to  wait  until  to-morrow." 

u  So  charming  of  you,  Miss  Burton,  to  be  in- 
formal," exclaimed  Mrs.  Cornell.  Then  she  ushered 
them  up  stairs  to  remove  their  wraps. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


AURA  had  not  remained  because  she  was 
favorably  impressed  with  Mrs.  Cornell, 
or  because  she  had  any  desire  to  con- 
tinue her  acquaintance  after  that  day. 
But  there  seemed  to  her  a  strange  fascination  in  the 
fact  that  this  walking  fashion-plate  was  Harold 
Cornell's  wife,  and  that  unconsciously  she  had  been 
brought  into  her  very  home. 

"It's  only  morbid  curiosity,  I  suppose,  which 
prompts  me  to  remain,"  she  soliloquized;  "but 
fate  brought  me  here  ;  I  may  never  meet  her  again, 
so  I  will  improve  the  opportunity  to  discover  if  I 
can  why  Harold  Cornell  does  not  love  his  handsome 
wife,  why  he  forgets  her,  forgets  his  marriage  vows, 
forgets  his  children,  and  wrongs  me  as  well  as  them 
by  offering  me  his  illicit  love." 

After  removing  their  wraps  Mrs.  Cornell  con- 
ducted her  guests  to  a  charming  room  off  the  parlor, 
where  a  cheerful  log-fire  was  burning.  Laura  care- 
lessly took  up  a  basket  of  photographs  and  began 
looking  them  over.  The  second  one  she  looked  at 
was  Mr.  Cornell.  Mrs.  Vernoyse  and  her  hostess 
being  engaged  in  conversation  she  had  ample  time 
to  closely  study  his  features  without  being  observed. 
"How  frank,  how  sincere  he  looks,"  was  her 

126 


Some  of  Ne w  York's  Fo  u  r  Hu  ndred .  127 


mental  comment.  "How  unlike  what  he  really  is. 
Never  was  I  deceived  in  a  person  as  I  have  been  in 
him.  Never  have  1  known  an  expression  indicating 
such  nobility  of  character  to  be  so  false." 

She  replaced  the  photographs  in  the  basket  and 
glanced  towards  Mrs.  Cornell,  wondering  if  she 
were  happy,  if  she  loved  him,  if  she  had  faith  in 
him. 

"  Can  she  be  perfectly  ignorant  of  his  real  char- 
acter? If  so,  I  pity  her  and  wonder  if  she  would  be 
unhappy  if  she  knew." 

And  yet  Mrs.  Cornell  did  not  impress  Laura  as  a 
woman  very  much  in  need  of  sympathy.  She  seemed 
too  cold,  too  calculating,  to  take  any  matter  per- 
taining to  the  affections  very  much  to  heart. 

"But  she  is  a  woman."  thought  Laura,  "and 
her  husband  has  made  love  to  me.  What  the  result 
would  be  if  she  knew  I  cannot  imagine.  She  looks 
like  a  woman  who  would  create  a  scandal  out  of 
revenge,  and  disgrace  me  forever." 

At  that  moment  she  caught  Mrs.  Cornell's  eyes 
fixed  searchingly  upon  her  as  though  reading  her 
inmost  soul.  Involuntarily  she  shraDk  from  their 
gaze.  Not  that  she  was  in  any  way  guilty,  but 
their  cold  unsympathetic  expression  repelled  her, 
and  she  was  thankful  that  she  had  not  answered 
Mr.  Cornell's  letter. 

"  Had  I  done  so,  he  might  carelessly  have  failed 
to  destroy  it  and  in  some  manner  it  might  have 
fallen  into  her  hands.  And  heaven  help  the  person 
who  incurs  her  jealousy  or  enmity." 


128     Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred. 


When  the  new  project  had  been  discussed  to  Mrs. 
Vernoyse'  satisfaction,  she  referred  to  her  intention 
relative  to  a  home  for  dumb  animals.  But  Mrs. 
Cornell  did  not  manifest  the  slightest  interest. 

"  I  am  interested  in  children,"  she  said,  "  because 
I  have  children  of  my  own  whom  I  idolize,  and 
naturally  I  sympathize  with  others  less  fortunate.'* 

"Quite  right,"  was  Mrs.  Vernoyse'  brief  re- 
sponse. 

"  And  have  you  no  sympatlry  for  unfortunate  ani- 
mals as  well?  "  asked  Laura. 

4 '  I  have  never  troubled  myself  very  much  about 
them,"  was  her  reply.  "My  children  absorb  my 
mind  almost  to  the  exclusion  of  anything  else." 

People  of  a  similar  mould  would  no  doubt  have 
pronounced  that  a  very  noble  sentiment.  Laura 
Burton,  however,  did  not.  She  considered  Mrs. 
Cornell's  mind  very  contracted,  very  shallow,  and 
extremely  selfish,  if  two  children,  and  they  simply 
because  a  part  of  herself,  filled  it  so  completely  that 
she  had  no  thought  for  anything  else  in  the  world. 

"I  like  fine  horses,"  remarked  Mrs.  Cornell, 
"because  of  their  grace  and  beauty,  besides  they 
are  so  useful  to  us." 

It  was  clearly  evident  that  Mrs.  Cornell  was  too 
selfish  to  care  for  anything  outside  her  own  family 
except  from  a  useful  point  of  view. 

"Are  you  fond  of  birds?"  asked  Laura. 

"Well,  yes  and  no.  I  am  fond  of  canaries  if 
they  are  good  singers,  but  I  would  not  give  one 
house-room  otherwise.     I  have  been  unfortunate, 


Some  of  Ne w  York's  Four  Hundred..  129 


however,  with  birds.  I  once  bad  a  lovely  singer 
named  Otto.  He  was  a  beauty  too,  but  while  I  was 
ill  last  fall  he  was  neglected  and  actually  starved  to 
death.  M  r.  Cornell  found  him  dead  in  his  cage 
with  neither  seed  nor  water.  Shocking,  wasn't 
it?" 

"  'Shocking'  doesn't  express  it !"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Vernoyse.  "  Were  not  the  servants  instructed  to 
look  after  it?  " 

"I  don't  know  as  the  bird  was  particularly 
specified,  but  I  supposed  of  course  it  would  be  at- 
tended regularly." 

Had  Mrs.  Vernoyse  spoken  her  mind  she  would 
have  said  :  "  You  no  doubt  gave  instructions  each 
day  concerning  your  children,  to  secure  their  every 
comfort  when  they  could  make  their  wants  known ; 
but  you  never  once  thought  of  your  poor  caged 
bird." 

Aloud  she  said  :  "Was  it  not  the  same  one  I  once 
saw  hanging  in  the  lower  hall  ?" 
"Yes,  the  very  same." 

"I  pitied  him  then,"  she  proceeded  ;  "he  seemed 
so  lonely  there — banished,  as  it  were,  with  no  one 
to  notice  him.  Birds  like  to  be  noticed  and  spoken 
to  occasionally  and  it  seems  cruel  to  isolate  them. 
We  are  too  apt  to  be  thoughtless  about  such  things. 
We  ourselves  cannot  endure  isolation ;  to  be  happy 
we  must  constantly  be  surrounded  by  friends,  and 
yet  we  lack  consideration  for  our  poor  birds." 

"I  would  have  hung  Otto  in  my  own  apartments," 
said  Mrs.  Cornell,  "but  he  scattered  his  seed  so 


130       Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred. 


profusely  that  the  floor  around  hirn  would  have  been 
a  sight." 

"Even  so,"  said  Mrs.  Vernoyse,  "though  after  all 
clean  canary  seed  isn't  so  dreadful,  and  one  of  the 
servants  might  have  brushed  it  up  now  and  then." 

"The  annoyance  could  easily  have  been  remedied," 
remarked  Laura  suggestively.  "A  piece  of  pretty 
colored  tarlatan,  cream,  pink,  or  blue ;  a  yard  or  so 
of  elastic  tape,  and  a  few  minutes'  work  would  have 
made  a  screen  to  slip  on  from  the  bottom  of  the 
cage  and  around  the  sides  as  high  as  the  seed  dish 
and  prevented  any  from  scattering." 

"  I  am  sorry  now  that  I  did  not  have  it  done," 
said  Mrs.  Cornell,  "  for  I  do  miss  Otto's  singing 
very  much." 

A  look  of  contempt  shot  from  Laura's  eyes.  Mrs. 
Cornell  evidently  had  no  thought  of  the  suffering  of 
the  bird.  She  thought  only  of  her  own  loss  in  being 
deprived  of  its  song. 

"  I  would  have  had  another  singer  before  this,'* 
she  continued,  "only  Mr.  Cornell  has  been  so 
opposed  to  it." 

Remembering  her  robin  adventure  Laura  asked 
carelessly  if  Mr.  Cornell  disliked  birds. 

"  O  no,  he  is  very  fond  of  them,"  said  Mrs.  Cor- 
nell. "  That  is  his  excuse  for  not  wanting  another. 
He  was  terribly  indignant  on  discovering  Otto  and 
feared  another  might  share  the  same  fate." 

"  Many  people  do  not  know  how  to  treat  birds," 
observed  Mrs.  Vernoyse,  "consequently  they  are 
subjected  to  far  more  cruelty  than  we  have  any  idea 


Some  of  Xeio  York's  Four  Hundred.  131 


of.  Many  times  they  hang  in  the  hot  sun  until 
quite  overcome  with  heat ;  in  winter  they  hang 
where  they  suffer  with  cold.  Again,  they  are  hung 
in  a  draught,  or  in  an  open  window  when  a  shower 
comes  up  until  they  are  drenched  ;  or  worse  than 
all,  they  are  placed  on  a  table  or  hung  so  low  that 
the  cat  catches  them." 

"  That  reminds  me  of  poor  Don  !"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Cornell.  "  He  was  another  lovely  singer  I  once 
had,  but  the  cat  caught  him  and  I've  hated  cats  ever 
since." 

"  Where  was  your  bird  when  the  cat  caught  it?" 
asked  Mrs.  Vernoyse. 

"  He  was  standing  on  the  floor.  I  had  just  given 
him  a  bath  and  had  not  yet  hung  him  up,  when  that 
horrid  cat  walked  in  and  seized  him." 

4 4  Mrs.  Cornell,"  said  Mrs.  Vernoyse,  gravely, 
"we  must  believe  in  a  Divine  Creator." 

"Why,  certainly." 

"  And  we  must  believe  He  created  all  animals  and 
gave  them  their  different  natures." 
"Most  assuredly." 

"  Well,  I  suppose  then  we  must  believe  that  the 
Divine  Creator  gave  cats  the  nature  to  destroy 
birds." 

"  Yes,  I  presume  He  did." 

"  Why,  then,  should  we  hate  cats  for  possessing 
that  nature  ?  " 

"  You  surely  would  not  intimate,"  replied  Mrs. 
Cornell  hesitatingly,  "  that  the  Creator  is  to  blame  ?" 

"  O  no.    I  would  only  say  that  if,  knowing  the 


132       Some  of  Xeio  York's  Four  Hundred, 


cat's  nature,  we  leave  our  birds  within  their  reach, 
it  seems  to  me  we  should  justly  blame  ourselves.  Of 
course,  Mrs.  Cornell,"  she  explained  with  apology 
in  her  tone,  "  I  am  speaking  on  general  principles 
only.  People  do  not  hesitate,"  she  continued,  "  to 
kill  a  cow  or  an  ox  that  they  may  eat  beef.  They 
separate  innocent  lambs  from  their  mothers  and  kill 
them  for  food.  And  yet,  if  a  cat  kills  a  bird  and 
makes  a  meal  of  it,  many  people  with  more  temper 
than  good  sense  think  its  crime  is  inexcusable,  and 
would  punish  the  animal  or  have  it  killed.  What 
inconsistency!"  Mentally  she  added  :  u  How  much 
better  things  some  people  expect  of  cats  than  they 
do  of  themselves." 

"  Speaking  of  birds,"  said  Mrs.  Cornell,  as 
though  desirous  of  changing  the  subject,  "  reminds 
me  of  the  millinery  Emporium.  The  place  is  really 
one  of  the  best  in  the  city,  but  I  have  discovered 
the  proprietor  to  be  such  a  tricky,  deceitful  crea- 
ture that  I  intend  to  withdraw  my  patronage." 

Laura  looked  intently  at  an  etching  on  an  easel 
across  the  room.  But  Mrs.  Vernoyse  carelessly 
asked  the  name  of  the  proprietor  and  in  what  way 
she  was  tricky. 

"Her  name  is  Madame  Dupont,"  replied  Mrs. 
Cornell,  "  and  her  trickery  consists  in  selling  goods 
under  false  pretensions.  For  instance,  she  tries  to 
convince  her  patrons  that  birds  are  no  longer  fashion- 
able for  millinery  purposes  ;  that  they  are  being  dis- 
carded by  the  elite  and  leaders  of  fashion  in  Paris, 
and  sbe  is  endeavoring  to  have  them  discarded  here." 


Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred.  133 


' '  What  is  there  tricky  about  that  ?  "  asked  Mrs. 
Vernoyse. 

"  The  mere  fact  of  its  being  false,"  replied  Mrs. 
Cornell.  "The  truth  of  the  matter  is,  Madame 
Dupont  is  opposed  to  birds  as  ornaments,  because 
so  many  are  killed  for  that  purpose,  and  she  is  try- 
ing to  abolish  the  practice  by  pretending  that  they 
are  unfashionable.  Did  you  ever  hear  of  such  de- 
ception and  fraud?" 

"  Well,  it  seems  to  me  that  her  course  is  less  to 
be  condemned  than  the  slaughtering  of  the  birds, 
or  even  the  wearing  of  them." 

"But  I  do  not  think,"  said  Mrs.  Cornell,  "that 
she  has  acted  quite  honorably  towards  her  patrons." 

"  I  have  heard,"  replied  Mrs.  Vernoyse,  "  much 
in  approval  of  Madame  Dupont,  and  I  doubt  whether 
she  could  accomplish  her  object  in  any  other  manner, 
there  are  so  many  who  can  be  appealed  to  only 
through  their  vanity." 

Mrs.  Cornell  ventured  no  reply. 

44  You  certainly  do  not  approve,"  proceeded  Mrs. 
Vernoyse,  "  of  the  destruction  of  our  beautiful 
song-birds  ?  " 

"O  no,  I  cannot  say  that;  but  they  must  die 
some  time,  you  know,  and  really  I  don't  see  that  it 
makes  much  difference  how  or  when." 

"I  read  in  my  evening  paper  the  other  day," 
Mrs.  Vernoyse  continued,  "that  more  than  forty 
million  humming-birds,  sea-birds,  orioles,  sea-gulls, 
red-birds,  wax-wings,  birds  of  paradise,  and  fly- 
catchers are  annually  used  in  decorating  women's 


134       Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred. 

hats,  and  surely  you  would  not  encourage  such 
wholesale  destruction  for  such  a  purpose." 

Mrs.  Cornell  had  no  defence,  so  she  appeared  to 
smilingly  acquiesce  with  Mrs.  Vernoyse'  rather 
forceful  reasoning. 

"How  did  your  husband  feel  over  your  bird 
Don?"  asked  Laura  curiously. 

"He  was  quite  shocked,  but,"  added  Mrs.  Cornell 
good  humoredly,  "  I  imagine  he  felt  very  much  as 
Mrs.  Vernoyse  does.  He  blamed  me  entirely,  and 
said  there  was  no  sense  in  denouncing  a  cat  for 
killing  a  bird  and  applauding  it  for  catching  a 
mouse,  unless  it  had  been  properly  trained,  as  other- 
wise the  cat  knew  no  difference." 

"  Quite  logical,"  assented  Mrs.  Vernoyse.  "Mr. 
Cornell  is  evidently  a  friend  of  animals." 

"  Yes  indeed.  If  he  had  his  way  he'd  turn  the 
house  into  a  perfect  menagerie ;  but  I  veto  all  that, 
I  assure  you.  As  for  dogs,  I  am  positively  afraid 
of  them  and  won't  allow  one  in  the  house.  He  has 
often  threatened  to  build  himself  a  bungalow  in 
some  retired  spot  where  he  can  spend  his  summers, 
surrounded  with  as  many  dogs  and  animals  of  vari- 
ous kinds  as  he  likes,  but  his  threat  has  never  been 
put  into  execution." 

Laura  remembered  "  Glenmoyne,"  with  its  horses, 
■dogs  and  cats,  its  deer  and  rabbits,  and  began  (as 
she  thought)  to  understand  why  no  Mrs.  Cornell 
reigned  there. 

"  Hso  wonder,"  she  mused,  "  that  some  men  com- 
mit acts  they  would  never  think  of  committing  were 


Some  of  Xeic  York's  Four  Hundred.  135 


they  not  driven  to  do  so  by  selfish,  exacting  wives. 
Mrs.  Cornell,  for  instance,  is  surrounded  by  every 
luxury,  and  yet  she  denies  her  husband  the  simple 
privilege  of  having  a  dog." 

"Why  do  you  object  to  dogs?  "  asked  Mrs.  Ver- 
noyse  of  her  hostess. 

"Because  to  me  they  are  odious  creatures  and  I 
am  dreadfully  afraid  of  them.  I  would  cross  the 
street  any  time  rather  than  meet  one." 

; ;  You  surely  are  not  afraid  of  all  dogs  ?  " 

"Yes,  all.  I  make  no  distinction;  to  me  they 
are  all  alike.  I  have  a  friend  who  has  two  thorough- 
breds which  she  considers  quite  wonderful  in  their 
way,  but  knowing  my  sentiments  on  the  dog  ques- 
tion, whenever  I  call  on  her  she  is  very  particular  to 
have  them  both  kept  out  of  sight." 

"  Are  they  vicious?  "  asked  Laura. 

"  My  friend  says  not ;  on  the  contrary  she  assures- 
me  they  are  perfectly  gentle  and  never  injured  any- 
one in  their  lives." 

"  Then  why  are  you  so  afraid  of  them? " 

"  Simply  because  they  are  dogs." 

"That,  I  cannot  understand."  remarked  Mrs. 
Yernoyse,  endeavoring  to  conceal  the  disgust  she 
felt  because  of  such  cowardice.  "  There  are  fierce, 
vicious  dogs,"  she  continued,  "  and  there  are  fierce, 
vicious  people  ;  but  because  one  man  is  a  robber, 
who  would  murder  me  if  necessary,  it  seems  hardly 
logical  that  I  should  fear  all  mankind.  I  think 
dogs,  as  a  rule,  are  very  noble,  intelligent  animals. 
Many  a  life  has  been  saved  by  their  sagacity.  A 


136        Some  of  Xew  York's  Four  Hundred. 

good  watch-dog  is  an  almost  indispensable  acqui- 
sition to  a  household  as  a  protector,  and  is  an  in- 
valuable companion  to  children  if  their  parents  wish 
to  develop  in  them  humane  instincts." 

"You  seem  fond  of  all  animals,"  observed  Mrs. 
Cornell,  "  but  you  surely  draw  the  line  at  cows. 
During  my  girlhood  I  spent  a  day  on  a  farm  where 
they  had  three.  At  milking-time  curiosity  took  me 
to  the  '  cow-yard,'  and  such  stupid-looking  creatures 
I  never  saw  before.  They  stood  there  looking  as 
sleepy  and  uninteresting  as  possible,  mechanically 
chewing  away  at  something,  '  cud,'  I  believe  the 
farmer  called  it,  whatever  that  is." 

"I  think  your  opinion  of  cows  was  too  hastily 
formed,"  replied  Mrs.  Vernoyse.  "Mine  differs 
entirely,  and  you  will  see  that  I  had  an  excellent 
opportunity  to  judge  when  I  tell  you  that  I  once 
spent  two  months  on  a  farm  where  there  were  fifty 
cows,  and  during  that  time  I  was  in  the  milking- 
yard  nearly  every  day.  Besides,  I  often  wandered 
out  among  them  in  the  pasture,  fed  them  with  salt 
from  my  hand,  patted  their  heads,  and  made  friends 
with  them  generally." 

"  I  don't  see  how  you  could  bear  to  touch  them," 
exclaimed  Mrs.  Cornell. 

"  Bear  to  touch  them?"  repeated  Mrs.  Vernoyse. 
"  Bear  to  touch  the  cows  that  give  us  our  milk,  our 
cream,  our  butter,  our  beef?    Why  not?  " 

"  For  fear  of  their  horns.  I  would  not  have  ven- 
tured near  them  for  anything." 

"I  experienced  no  such  fear.    To  me  they  seemed 


Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred.  137 


very  gentle,  although  I  admit  there  are  now  and 
then  exceptional  cases,  but  those  I  am  speaking 
of  were  owned  by  a  man  who  permitted  no  abuse. 
At  milking-time  there  was  no  panic  among  them  ; 
they  feared  no  kicks  nor  blows  from  the  milkers  ; 
their  dispositions  were  in  no  way  ruined.  Many 
cows  are  not  so  fortunate.  They  are  pastured  in 
fields  without  shade  and  with  insufficient  water. 
They  suffer  from  heat  and  thirst,  they  are  driven 
from  the  pasture  on  the  run,  which  is  very  injurious 
to  them  previous  to  being  milked.  Then  they  are 
shouted  at  by  the  milkers,  kicked,  and  often 
pounded  with  the  milking-stool  if  restless  because 
of  being  tormented  with  flies,  until  altogether  they 
are  in  a  fever  of  excitement.  The  cow  is,  I  think, 
a  much  abused  animal,  and  considering  the  great 
part  it  plays  in  our  domestic  economy  ought  to 
be  properly  appreciated  and  receive  kind  treatment." 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


NEVER  heard  so  much  said  in  favor 
of  cows  before  in  all  my  life,"  said 
Mrs.  Cornell.  "  Really  they  are  quite 
interesting  after  all." 
"And  well  worth  knowing  about,"  was  the  re-  „ 
joinder.  "But  to  change  the  subject.  Speaking 
of  your  fear  of  dogs  reminded  me  of  once  hearing 
you  speak  of  attending  a  fox-hunt  when  in  England. 
Were  you  not  afraid  that  some  of  those  hounds 
would  attack  you  ?  " 

"  Not  in  the  least.    They  were  too  actively  en- 
gaged in  trying  to  catch  the  fox." 

' '  O  indeed !  What  a  terrible  thing  it  would 
have  been  had  one  of  those  hounds  in  the  slightest 
manner  injured  any  of  the  ladies  or  gentlemen ! 
And  yet,  who  among  such  parties  has  a  thought  for 
the  terrified  fox  that  is  being  hounded  to  death  by 
a  whole  pack?  The  fox  has  feeling,  the  fox  suffers  ; 
it  knows  it  is  to  be  torn  in  pieces  ;  but  who  cares  ? 
I  think  fox-hunts  are  brutal  and  demoralizing,  and 
how  refined  people  can  enjoy  them  is  beyond  my 
comprehension." 

"  I  assure  you,  Mrs.  Vernoyse,"  returned  Mrs. 
Cornell,  "I  never  attended  the  chase  but  once  in 

138 


Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred.  139 

my  life,  and  that  was  unavoidable  as  I  was  a  guest 
at  the  time  of  the  people  who  owned  the  hounds." 

"We  know,"  said  Mrs.  Vernoyse,  "that  these 
things  are  going  on  all  the  time  and  are  upheld  by 
people  from  whom  we  should  expect  better  things." 

"  What  is  your  opinion  of  the  '  chase,'  Miss  Bur- 
ton?" asked  the  hostess. 

"I  quite  agree  with  Mrs.  Vernoyse,"  replied 
Laura.  "  I  consider  cruelty  to  animals  one  of  the 
gravest  sins  committed.  Not  half  enough  is  said 
or  written  on  the  subject  as  only  a  comparative  few 
have  taken  the  matter  up.  But  those  few  are 
earnest,  heroic  in  their  efforts,  and  are  doing  a 
grand  work ;  but  the  masses  are  as  yet  indifferent 
to  the  suffering  of  the  lower  animals." 

"I  oppose  the  4  chase '  for  other  reasons,"  con- 
tinued Mrs.  Vernoyse.  "Consider  the  horses,  for 
instance,  in  those  cross-country  runs.  They  shrink 
from  the  jumps  they  are  compelled  to  make  ;  they 
often  fall  and  break  a  leg  or  otherwise  injure  them- 
selves and  their  riders  as  well.  The  riders,  however, 
go  into  the  thing  voluntarily,  taking  all  chances 
the  horses  do  not.  With  them  it  is  a  case  of  force. 
Those  detestable  steeple-chase  races  are  really  an 
abomination  too.  I  actually  know  of  four  horses 
being  so  badly  injured  at  a  race-track  near  New 
York  that  they  had  to  be  taken  from  the  track  and 
shot.  And  the  papers  encourage  it.  I  have  often 
wondered  why.  It  is  to  be  hoped  that  steeple-chase 
racing  will  yet  be  prohibited  by  law.  The  law  often 
interferes  with  acts  far  less  sinful." 


140      Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred. 


4iThe  people  evidently  enjoy  them,"  observed 
Mrs.  Cornell. 

'•I  am  not  speaking  from  the  peoples'  side  of 
the  question."  was  the  reply,  "but  from  the  horses' 
entirely,  and — the  humane  side.  Some  people  en- 
joy bull-fights.  But  let  them  find  other  means  of 
enjoyment ;  something  that  is  not  liable  to  sacrifice 
the  life  of  a  horse  to  their  pleasure.  I  can  name 
people,  however,  who  occasionally  attend  the  races 
but  who  would  not  witness  a  steeple-chase  because 
of  the  revolting  possibilities  liable  to  occur.  Be- 
sides, they  will  not  encourage  them  by  their 
presence." 

"  Some  people  are  extremists." 

"  Yes,"  assented  Mrs.  Vernovse.  "  and  when  they 
are,  it  is  well  to  have  their  extremes  on  the  humane 
side.  Better  that,  a  thousand  times,  than  by  neu- 
trality encourage  such  cruelty  to  continue." 

"  I  think,"  said  Laura,  Sc  that  the  greater  cruelty 
exists  among  the  uneducated  classes.  But  the 
docked-tails  of  horses  and  dogs,  and  the  tight  checks, 
and  cut  ears,  prove  that  it  also  exists  to  a  great 
extent  among  the  more  cultured  element.  TSlth 
them,  however,  cruelty  is  mainly  in  the  carrying  out 
of  some  fad  or  fashion.  Among  the  uneducated  it  is 
more  in  the  form  of  kicks,  clubbing,  and  neglect. 
I  have  seen  truck-drivers  unmercifully  beat  their 
horses  for  accidentally  slipping  on  the  stone  pave- 
ment when  drawing  with  all  their  strength  a  heavy 
load.  Teamsters  In  our  large  cities  are  often  in  the 
police  courts  charged  with  cruelty  to  their  horses. 


Some  of  Neiv  York's  Four  Hundred.  141 

Wife-beating  and  horse-whipping  are  not  very  far 
removed  with  such  a  class.  They  do  not  realize 
that  they  owe  their  living  to  the  horses  they  abuse 
with  such  apparent  delight.  Business  men  owning 
horses  should  take  more  interest  in  them  and  make 
it  compulsory  with  their  drivers  to  treat  them  kindly. 
If  they  fail  to  do  so  immediate  discharge  should  be 
the  penalty." 

"What  about  the  man  losing  his  position  with 
perhaps  a  family  to  support?"  asked  Mrs.  Cornell. 

"  It  would  be  his  own  fault ;  he  should  consider 
that  beforehand.  His  employer,  however,  could 
easily  judge  if  his  regrets  were  sincere  and  he  could 
be  re-engaged  on  agreeing  to  never  repeat  the 
offence.  Then  he  would  begin  to  realize  that  he 
owed  something  to  the  horse." 

"  Men  who  abuse  horses  are  brutes  !  "  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Vernoyse,  "and  they  deserve  to  suffer.  The 
only  way  to  punish  them  is  to  administer  doses  of 
their  own  medicine  on  the  principle  that  like  cures 
like." 

"A  great  many  would  require  the  medicine," 
responded  Laura.  "  I  have  seen  horses  driven 
until  they  were  ready  to  drop  with  thirst,  and  the 
drivers  would  never  think  to  give  them  water,  al- 
though they  themselves  would  step  into  some  corner 
saloon  and  get  their  drink.  I  have  seen  horses 
standing  in  the  burning  sun  when  they  could  just  as 
well  have  been  tied  under  shade-trees  that  were 
near.  I  have  seen  them  in  winter  stand  unblanketed 
with  steam  rising  from  them  in  clouds,  caused  by 


142       Some  of  Xew  York's  Four  Hundred. 


hard  driving,  and  afterwards  learned  they  bad 
been  foundered.  I  have  seen  drivers  yank  at  tbe 
bits  until  tbe  horses  foamed  at  the  mouth  and 
their  lips  were  lacerated.  I  have  seen  them  with 
tbe  skin  worn  bare  and  swarms  of  flies  gnawing 
into  the  raw  flesh.  Such  things  are  inexcusable  ; 
they  are  criminal.  Many  of  those  horses  had  no 
tails  with  which  to  whisk  away  the  flies  and  were 
helpless  in  their  torment.  Unfortunately  for  them 
they  had  once  been  owned  by  fashionable  people, 
which  fact  accounted  for  their  helpless  condition. 

"I  have  seen  dogs  chained  out  in  tbe  hot  sun 
without  a  drop  of  water  near  them,  and  if  they 
barked  or  whined  for  freedom  they  received  a  kick 
or  a  whip  lash  instead.  Dogs  often  run  about  tbe 
streets  until,  overcome  by  beat  and  thirst,  they  go 
into  a  fit.  In  most  cases  of  this  kind  a  plentiful 
supply  of  cold  water  would  produce  beneficial 
results.  Water  to  them  is  very  essential,  and  if 
there  were  more  drinking-places  for  them  in  our 
cities  there  would  be  fewer  cases  of  real  or  imagin- 
ary hydrophobia,  and  many  a  panic  would  be 
averted,  where  terrified  people  shout  '  mad  dog/ 
and  when  policemen  —  who  sometimes  handle  re- 
volvers as  awkwardly  as  they  would  crow-bars — 
shock  the  community  by  riddling  tbe  suffering  crea- 
tures with  bullets. 

"I  have  seen  fowls  imprisoned  where  there  was 
no  sign  of  green  grass  or  shade,  oftentimes  no  water, 
and  insufficient  food.  In  summer  they  nearly 
roasted,  in  winter  they  were  nearly  frozen.  Their 


Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred.  143 


food  was  unsuited  to  the  cold,  the  water  was  frozen 
in  their  dishes ;  and  yet  their  owners  blamed  the 
hens  for  not  laying  more  eggs.  I  have  seen  fowls 
brought  into  market  packed  like  sardines,  almost 
suffocated,  no  food,  no  drink,  and  the  sun  beating 
unmercifully  upon  them.  This  is  a  cruel  but  com- 
mon condition  of  the  traffic  in  live  fowls,  as  any 
one  can  see  by  visiting  Gansevoort  market  almost 
any  day.  And  yet  the  authorities  permit  these 
inhumanities  to  continue  with  hardly  a  protest.  It 
would  take  hours  to  enumerate  the  different  forms 
of  cruelty  that  exist,  and  it  is  sad  indeed  that  kind- 
ness does  not  exist  in  such  extremes  instead." 

Laura  had  spoken  with  feeling,  and  Mrs.  Cornell, 
although  not  in  sympathy  with  the  subject,  could 
not  but  admire  her  earnestness. 

"  Really,  Miss  Burton,"  she  said,  "  you  take 
this  matter  very  seriously  to  heart,  and  evidently  are 
a  great  observer.  It  is  interesting  to  hear  you. 
Positively  your  proper  sphere  is  in  the  lecture-room. 
You  would  make  any  amount  of  converts." 

"If  the  masses  were  mentally  developed,"  re- 
turned Laura,  "  they  would  require  no  argument  or 
conversion  to  make  them  gentle  and  kind.  As  for 
the  lecture-room,  there  are  hundreds  there  now,  but 
do  they  ever  refer  to  these  subjects  ?  No !  Do 
our  school-teachers  take  the  matter  up  with  their 
pupils  as  they  should?  No,  not  one  in  five  hun- 
dred !  How  do  I  know  ?  Because  in  numerous 
instances  I  have  ascertained.  Many  a  time  on 
seeing  school-boys  throw  stones  at  cats  and  dogs 


144       Some  of  New  York's  Fo»r  Hu  ndred. 


in  the  streets  I  have  questioned  them  as  to  whether 
their  teachers  ever  taught  them  to  be  kind  to 
animals,  and  invariably  they  have  answered  '  No.' 
Nor  have  their  parents  taught  them,  nor  their 
Sunday-school  teachers,  nor  have  they  inherited 
it.  No  wonder,  then,  that  to  them  kindness  is  an 
unknown  quantity,  and  that  the  acts  of  the  genus 
4  small-boy '  often  outrival  those  of  an  uncivilized 
Indian. 

4 1  One  of  the  first  things  a  child  should  be  taught 
is  to  avoid  cruelty ;  to  look  upon  it  as  unneces- 
sary, vulgar,  and  unmanly.  I  think  that  our 
Boards  of  Education  should  insist  that  teachers 
promulgate  the  doctrine  of  kindness  among  their 
pupils  and  a  liberal  supply  of  lessons  on  such  sub- 
jects should  be  in  every  school-reader,  with  this 
end  in  view.  Clergymen  should  preach  it  from  their 
pulpits,  and  with  their  vast  influence  accomplish 
wonderful  results.  I  have  listened  to  many  a  theo- 
logical discourse,  poetic,  brilliant ;  but  not  a  word 
was  uttered  regarding  early  impressions,  and  the 
essential  need  of  instilling  in  children  ideas  of  kind- 
ness to  God's  lower  animals.  What  opportunities 
they  fail  to  take  advantage  of  !  What  a  world  of 
good  our  brilliant  orators  and  renowned  clergymen 
could  do  by  occasionally  referring  to  this  subject 
and  urging  its  importance  upon  their  hearers.  If 
our  rising  generation  does  not  inherit  kindness  ;  if 
it  is  not  taught  at  home,  at  school,  in  Sunday-school 
or  church,  what  are  we  to  expect  from  our  future 
men  and  women,  or  from  their  children  or  grand- 


Some  of  Ne iv  York's  Four  Hundred.  145 


children?  This  is  to  me  a  grave  problem,  and  one 
which  I  regret  to  say  is  practically  ignored." 

"I  am  sure  you  are  sufficiently  heroic  in  the 
cause,"  said  Mrs.  Cornell  laughingly,  "and  I  re- 
peat that  you  have  missed  your  vocation." 

44  The  children  of  to-day,"  remarked  Mrs.  Ver- 
noyse,  "  are  most  truly  the  men  and  women  of  the 
future,  and  their  early  training  is  of  vast  importance. 
Why  clergymen,  both  Catholic  and  Protestant,  do 
not  more  largely  exert  their  influence  in  a  humane 
way  I  cannot  understand.  And  authors  !  I  have 
read  hundreds  of  them  without  finding  one  line  in 
behalf  of  animals,  although  chapters  were  devoted 
to  describing  fox  hunts,  deer  stalking,  duck  and 
pigeon  shooting,  and  other  sports  called  4  manly,' 
those  who  participated  boasting  of  the  birds  or  ani- 
mals they  had  brought  down.  But  not  one  word  did 
the  author  say  in  disapproval  —  not  one  word  in 
defence  of  the  creatures  so  wantonly  killed.  "What 
are  authors  and  journalists  thinking  about,  to  be  so 
indifferent  to  the  cruelty  in  existence  ?  They  have 
golden  opportunities  to  educate  and  influence  the 
world ;  why  do  they  not  improve  them  ?  Does  the 
reason  of  their  silence  mean  sanction,  or  is  it  in- 
difference ?  Either  one  of  these  reasons  is  censur- 
able. Their  opportunities  for  observation  are  un- 
limited, and  the  societies  organized  to  prevent  cruelty 
to  animals  need  their  aid.  Their  silence  is  equiva- 
lent to  a  refusal.  Why  then  not  give  their  aid  freely 
and  without  being  solicited  ? 

"My  experience   with  boys,"  proceeded  Mrs. 


146       Some  of  Xew  York's  Four  Hundred. 


Vernoyse,  "is,  that  as  a  rule,  they  must  be  appealed 
to  through  their  pride  rather  thau  their  morals.  If 
you  tell  boys  that  it  is  wicked  to  commit  acts  of 
cruelty,  that  it  displeases  the  Lord,  eight  out  of  ten 
will  stare  at  you  exasperatingly,  and  go  right  on 
with  their  viciousness  immediately  your  back  is 
turned,  preferring  to  settle  with  the  Lord  later  on 
and  take  chances  of  future  punishment.  Different 
tactics  are  necessary  to  effect  a  change  in  the  pre- 
cocious youngster  of  the  nineteenth  century.  If  he 
is  once  convinced  that  it  is  cowardly  to  take  advan- 
tage of  defenceless  animals,  but  manly  and  heroic  to 
defend  them,  you  have  some  hope  of  him.  Or,  if 
the  boy  be  possessed  of  a  vivid  imagination,  con- 
vince him  that  animals  feel  pain  as  acutely  as  hef 
Ask  him  if  he  would  enjoy  being  beaten,  kicked 
stoned,  or  chased  by  a  mob  of  boys  and  kept  in  a 
constant  state  of  terror.  Many  boys  possess  imagi- 
nation and  sentiment  which  is  capable  of  being 
aroused  and  developed  into  sympathy." 

"  My  little  Grade  is  very  sympathetic,"  said 
Mrs.  Cornell,  "  and  exactly  like  her  father,  both  in 
disposition  and  looks.  She  will  cry  if  she  sees  a 
man  whip  his  horse  on  the  street.  As  for  Otto,  I 
never  dared  tell  her  his  fate.  She  thinks  he  escaped 
from  his  cage  and  flew  out  of  the  window,  and  if  my 
husband  had  not  found  him  dead  I  would  have  per- 
suaded him  to  think  the  same.  By  the  way,  our 
conversation  this  afternoon  would  please  him  im- 
mensely. I  often  think  he  regrets  that  I  am  not 
more  in  sympathy  with  him  on  such  subjects.  Our 


Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred.  147 


discussions  are  usually  of  the  theatre,  opera,  Mrs. 
Blank's  dinner-party,  or  something  of  the  kind. 
But  to-day's  tete-a-tete  has  been  an  interesting  inno- 
vation." 

Mrs.  Cornell  smiled,  but  it  was  only  a  smile  of 
the  lips,  and  as  insincere  as  her  words. 

"It  is  unfortunate  that  discussions  of  this  kind 
are  so  out  of  the  usual  order,"  replied  Mrs.  Vernoyse. 
"  The  subject  is  one  which  should  be  under  discus- 
sion at  every  fireside  until  people  become  more  con- 
siderate and  humane.  But  peoples'  ideas  of  reform 
widely  differ.  For  example,  once  when  on  a  charita- 
ble mission  I  ran  across  a  dirty-faced  youngster  who 
was  beating  his  dog  because  it  had  upset  a  rudely- 
constructed  cart  to  which  it  was  attached.  The 
dog's  yelps  disturbed  the  boy's  mother,  a  hard- 
featured  woman,  who  came  rushing  out,  and  taking 
hold  of  her  young  hopeful  shook  him  roughly. 

"  '  I'll  teach  yez  to  make  a  dog  holler  like  that  and 
be  after  disturbin'  the  hull  block  !  *  she  yelled. 
4  Now  jist  take  that !  an'  that !  an'  that !  giving  him 
a  bang  to  represent  each  'that.'  Then  she  disap- 
peared within  the  grimy  hallway. 

' '  I  asked  the  boy  if  he  would  ever  beat  the  dog 
again,  and  amid  his  sobs  he  replied :  t  Nex'  time 
I'll  take  'im  roun'  de  corner  so  de  ole  woman  can't 
hear  'im  holler  an'  den  I'll  beat  'im.' 

"  That  was  all  the  benefit  he  had  derived  from  his 
mother's  discipline.  He  had  only  learned  another 
lesson  in  deception ;  he  had  no  thought  of  pity  for 
the  poor  dog,  and  was  only  waiting  a  better  oppor- 


148       Some  oj  New  York's  Four  Hundred. 


tunity  to  continue  his  violence.  That's  one  way  to 
teach  the  young  ideas  to  shoot.  Now  I'll  give  you 
another." 

"  But,  Mrs.  Verno}-se,  did  you  not  reprimand  the 
boy?"  asked  Mrs.  Cornell  curiously. 

44 1  did  not  exactly  reprimand  him,  because  the 
poor  neglected  child  scarcely  realized  that  he  had 
clone  wrong.  But  I  gave  him  as  kindly  a  lesson  as 
I  could,  and  impressed  it  on  his  mind  by  accom- 
panying it  with  a  half  dollar  on  condition  that  he 
would  never  again  abuse  his  dog  or  any  other 
animal,  and  that  he  would  do  all  in  his  power  t© 
dissuade  other  boys  from  doing  so." 

"  Have  you  any  idea  that  he  will  heed  what  you 
said?" 

"  He  may,  and  he  may  not.  In  any  event  it  can 
do  no  harm,  and  may  do  much  good.  Besides,  I 
have  the  satisfaction  of  having  tried  to  promote  a 
worthy  cause." 

4 '  What  about  the  other  case  you  referred  to  ?  " 
asked  Laura. 

44  O  yes;  I  had  forgotten.  Well,  as  a  singular 
coincidence,  on  the  same  street  only  a  few  blocks 
away  another  similar  incident  occurred,  there  being 
a  dog,  an  upturned  cart,  a  boy,  and  his  mother. 
The  boy  in  this  instance  was  also  ventilating  his 
anger  on  a  dog.  His  mother,  on  hearing  the  dis- 
turbance, ran  out  and  took  in  the  situation  at  a 
glance.  Her  face  became  very  grave  as  she  hur- 
riedly stepped  forward  and  withdrew  a  whip  from 
the  boy's  hand. 


Some  of  Xeic  York's  Four  Hundred.  149 


"  'Why,  Archie  !  '  she  exclaimed.  '  I  would  not 
have  believed  this  of  you,  only  for  witnessing  it 
with  my  osvn  eyes.' 

utBut,  mamma,'  the  boy  answered,  'Carlo 
wouldn't  do  as  1  wanted  him  to,  and  he's  upset  the 
cart,  and  broken  the  traces.' 

"  '  My  child,'  replied  the  mother,  '  you  very  often 
fail  to  do  as  I  wrant  you  to,  but  I  don't  fly  at  you 
and  beat  you  unmercifully.  Just  see  how  badly 
poor  Carlo  feels;  he  is  smarting  with  pain  too, 
Think  how  he  loves  you,  how  he  follows  you  about, 
how  he  once  saved  you  from  drowning.  You  have 
forgotten  all  that  now  because  he  happened  to  dis- 
please you.  But  if  Carlo  were  to  die  you  would  be 
very  sorry  and  always  remember  your  cruelty  to  him.' 

"  Her  tone  was  not  loud  and  angry,  but  grieved  ; 
and  by  that  time  the  boy  wras  crying  with  remorse. 
After  the  woman  went  in  I  approached  him  and 
asked  if  he  were  going  to  finish  the  punishment  his 
mother  had  interrupted.   He  looked  at  me  in  wonder. 

"  '  No,. mam,'  he  replied,  '  I  wouldn't  whip  Carlo 
any  more  for  anything  in  the  world.  I  whipped 
him  before  because  I  was  mad  and  didn't  stop  to 
think.' 

"That  was  the  result  of  his  mother's  discipline. 
She  had  appealed  to  his  better  nature  and  aroused 
his  sympathy  b}^  setting  his  imagination  to  work.  If 
our  clergymen  and  teachers,  as  Miss  Burton  sug- 
gests, would  adopt  a  similar  course  and  give  out  a 
few  object-lessons  occasionally  their  influence  wrould 
soon  show  results." 


150       Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred. 


Ere  long  Miss  Graeie  and  Master  Walter  returned. 
Mrs.  Vernovse  expressed  a  wish  to  see  them,  and 
Mrs.  Cornell  was  about  to  send  for  them  to  be 
brought  in,  but  Mrs.  Vernovse  preferred  going  to 
the  nursery  instead. 

"  I  like  to  see  children  when  they  are  natural." 
she  explained,  "and  they  are  never  that  when  placed 
on  exhibition  in  a  parlor." 

In  the  nursery  they  found  Graeie,  a  sweet  child, 
playing  with  a  doll  nearly  as  large  as  herself,  while 
Walter  was  amusing  himself  at  the  expense  of  a 
forlorn-looking  cat  which  he  had  pinioned  to  the 
floor  by  throwing  one  leg  tightly  across  its  back. 
The  cat's  discomfort  did  not  trouble  Mrs.  Cornell 
in  the  least,  but  she  was  very  indignant  because  of 
the  cat's  presence." 

''Myra,"  she  said,  bestowing  a  severe  look  of 
rebuke  on  the  nurse,  ''why  do  you  allow  that  cat 
up  here.  Take  it  out  at  once  and  never  let  me  fiud 
it  here  again." 

The  nurse  withdrew  the  cat  from  underneath 
Walter's  leg,  while  he  screamed  and  kicked  at  beiug 
deprived  of  his  victim.  Mrs.  Cornell  tried  in  vain 
to  pacify  him  with  promises  of  candies  and  bon- 
bons, while  Mrs.  Vernovse  stroked  the  cat's  head, 
at  which  it  began  to  purr  and  evince  delight  at  being 
noticed  without  being  tormented. 

"I  don't  see  how  you  can  bear  to  touch  a  eat,'' 
said  Mrs.  Cornell,  after  the  nurse  had  taken  it  from 
the  room.  ''They  seem  to  me  such  dirty  things, 
besides  they  might  scratch  and  bite." 


Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred.  151 


"  I've  had  cats  all  my  life,"  retorted  Mrs.  Ver- 
noyse,  "and  I  was  never  scratched  or  bitten  yet. 
As  to  their  being  dirty,  that  is  a  mere  prejudice,  as 
they  are  among  the  cleanest  animals  known.  Give 
a  cat  an  opportunity  and  it  will  take  every  advan- 
tage of  it  to  keep  cleanly.  A  dirty  cat  is  the 
exception  and  not  the  rule." 

"I've  never  bestowed  that  much  thought  upon 
them,"  replied  Mrs.  Cornell  indifferently.  "  This 
one  was  here  when  we  moved  into  the  house  two 
years  ago,  and  I  have  permitted  it  to  remain  to  keep 
the  place  clean  of  rats  and  mice.  But  I  never 
allow  it  above  the  basement  and  never  think  of 
noticing  it  any  more  than  if  it  were  a  stick." 

"  If  shown  any  consideration,"  observed  Laura, 
"  cats  develop  into  very  intelligent  animals.  They 
appreciate  attention  too,  and  are  so  easily  made 
happy  that  it  seems  a  pity  to  deny  them  a  kind 
word  now  and  then." 

Argument  with  Mrs.  Cornell  would  have  been 
useless.  She  was  one  of  those  superficial  women 
who  permit  a  prejudice,  no  matter  how  unfounded, 
to  stand  in  the  way  of  all  common  sense  and  reason. 
She  could  never  be  educated  on  broad-gauged  prin- 
ciples ;  that  time  for  her  had  passed.  Her  mind 
had  not  awakened  to  the  realities  of  life  surround- 
ing her  except  they  had  contributed  to  her  pleasure. 
Being  the  daughter  of  a  millionaire  whose  grasping 
avarice  had  almost  completely  absorbed  his  time,  she 
was  left  entirely  to  the  care  of  nurses  and  govern- 
esses to  develop  without  restraint  the  selfish  and 


152       >Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred. 

egotistical  instincts  inherited  from  her  father.  Had 
her  mother  lived  she  might  have  been  a  very  different 
woman.  Her  training  in  the  most  exclusive  coterie 
of  society,  however,  was  evident  in  her  perfect  self- 
control  as  she  listened  to  the  scoring  given  to  people 
of  her  own  disposition.  Also  in  her  polite  acquies- 
cence in  her  guests'  ideas  while  they  only  bored  her, 
for  she  had  no  patience  with  the  opinions  of  others  if 
they  differed  from  her  own.  Mrs.  Cornell  was  only 
a  type.  There  are  others  as  well,  whose  minds  'are 
capable  of  absorbing  only  small  quantities ;  it  is 
useless  then  to  administer  to  them  large  quantities 
of  either  philosophy  or  reasoning,  for  they  lack  the 
capacity  to  hold  it. 

From  the  nursery  Mrs.  Cornell  conducted  her 
guests  to  a  daintily  prepared  tea.  The  conversation 
was  on  current  topics,  and  the  tea  passed  off  rather 
pleasantly. 


CHAPTER  XV. 


^|UI\IX(i  their  homeward  drive  Mrs.  Ver- 
noyse  asked  Laura's  opinion  of  Mrs. 
Cornell. 

"  I  think  her  a  very  handsome  wo- 
man," was  the  brief  reply. 

"  Nonsense,  I'm  not  thinking  of  her  looks.  Of 
course  she's  handsome  —  from  an  artist's  stand- 
point ;  her  worst  enemies  couldn't  deny  that.  But 
what  do  you  think  of  her  as  being  a  womanly 
woman  ?  " 

"  She  seems  devoted  to  her  children,"  returned 
Laura  evasively. 

"  Certainly,  and  why  not?  Is  not  a  cat  devoted 
to  her  kittens  ?  a  tiger  to  her  young  ?  And  yet  that 
same  tiger  shows  no  love  nor  mercy  for  the  young 
of  any  except  her  own.  The  tiger's  love  is  extreme- 
ly selfish,  and  in  that  respect  Mrs.  Cornell  —  like 
thousands  of  others  —  resembles  both  the  tiger  and 
the  cat,  which  she  so  heartily  despises.  She  loves 
her  children  because  they  are  her  own — a  part  of 
her  dear  self.  I  once  heard  her  say,  however,  that  if 
she  were  plain-looking,  or  lacked  grace  and  style  of 
figure,  that  she  would  be  averse  to  having  a  family. 
As  it  is,  she  takes  pride  in  seeing  herself  repro- 
duced.   But  it  is  to  be  hoped  that  the  reproducing 


154       Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred. 


and  rearing  of  our  future  generations  will  devolve 
upon  more  noble  and  more  kindly  disposed  mothers 
—  mothers  capable  of  endowing  their  offspring  with 
healthy  brains  and  kindly  dispositions  as  well  as 
face  and  figure." 

4 'Mrs.  Cornell  is  certainly  a  very  striking  wo- 
man," responded  Laura. 

"  That  is  what  old  Commodore  AVakefield  thought 
when  he  confidentially  pronounced  her  an  4  egotis- 
tical fool,'"  returned  Mrs.  Vernoyse.  "Not  very 
choice  language,  but  he  was  a  most  estimable  man 
for  all  that,  and  a  hater  of  cant  and  hypocrisy.  He 
became  acquainted  with  the  Cornells  at  Newport, 
and  conceived  a  thorough  dislike  for  her  because  of 
her  being  such  a  coward.  Men  have  no  respect  for 
cowardly  women.  The  timid,  shrinking  woman  who 
screams  at  the  sight  of  a  mouse  is  out  of  date. 
Both  sexes  admire  courage  in  a  woman  ;  cowardice 
is  an  ignoble  trait,  and  despicable.  Mrs.  Cornell 
is  a  moral  as  well  as  a  physical  coward.  Moral, 
because  she  appears  to  agree  with  you,  hoping  to 
secure  your  approbation  ;  a  physical  coward  because 
she  is  afraid  of  everything,  dogs,  cats,  cows  ;  afraid 
of  a  mouse,  although  she  knows  the  mouse  to  be 
even  more  timid  than  herself,  and  that  it  will  flee 
rather  than  molest  her.  In  fact  it  is  hard  to  say 
what  she  is  not  afraid  of.  Evidently  she  is  not 
descended  from  a  race  of  warriors." 

"AVhat  was  the  Commodore's  opinion  of  Mr. 
Cornell?"  asked  Laura. 

"  Decidedly  different  from  that  of  his  wife.  He 


Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred.  155 


considered  Cornell  a  tine  fellow,  and  quite  her 
superior." 

Laura  leaned  back  in  the  carriage,  obscured  from 
the  street  lights,  and  carelessly  asked  Mrs.  Vernoyse 
if  she  were  personally  acquainted  with  Mr.  Cornell. 
She  received  an  affirmative  reply,  Mrs.  Vernoyse 
having  met  him  frequently  during  a  Newport  season. 

' '  Where  do  the  Cornells  spend  the  summer  ?  " 
she  next  asked. 

"  Wherever  fancy  dictates,  I  believe." 

"  Where  were  they  last  summer?  " 

u  Mrs.  Cornell  and  the  children  went  abroad  with 
her  sister,  Mrs.  Paul  Wentworth,  but  I  don't  know 
where  Mr.  Cornell  was,  although  I  am  certain  he 
did  not  accompany  them." 

"  Does  he  seem  fond  of  his  wife?  " 

"  In  a  way,  yes  ;  still  I  don't  believe  he  is  entirely 
love-blind  to  her  faults." 

"  He  married  her  for  better  or  for  worse,"  re- 
turned Laura,  "and  even  though  she  may  have 
proved  '  worse '  he  has  no  right  to  neglect  her  or 
prove  untrue  because  of  having  discovered  her  faults 
at  this  late  date." 

"  My  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Vernoyse,  "  you  speak  as 
if  you  knew  that  Mr.  Cornell  was  really  guilty  of 
neglecting  her." 

'•Why  did  he  not  accompany  her  abroad?"  asked 
Laura.  "Why  did  he  —  a  man  of  leisure  —  permit 
his  wife  and  children  to  take  such  a  trip  without 
him,  unless  he  had  reasons  of  his  own  for  remain- 
ing behind  ?  " 


156       Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred. 

"  What  can  you  possibly  mean,  child?  " 

"Simply  that  I  am  not  the  'child'  you  think. 
I  am  more  worldly-wise  than  you  imagine  ;  and  Mr. 
Cornell  may  have  been  interested  in  some  other 
woman  to  whom  he  wished  to  devote  himself  during 
his  wife's  absence." 

44  Why,  Laura!  Such  a  bitter  expression  from 
you  is  amazing.  One  would  think  you  had  a  per- 
sonal grudge  against  Mr.  Cornell ;  but  if  you  knew 
him  your  opinion  would  change  at  once." 

For  the  moment  Laura  was  tempted  to  cry  out : 
44  I  do  know  him  !  He  is  not  the  man  of  honor  and 
integrity  you  believe  him  to  be  !  He  is  false  ;  he 
is  living  a  double  life  ;  he  has  caused  me  many  a 
heartache  and  shaken  my  faith  in  man." 

4 'Mrs.  Cornell  has  no  cause  to  complain  of  her 
husband  neglecting  her,"  resumed  Mrs.  Vernoyse, 
"  and  she  may  consider  herself  fortunate  too,  for 
many  men  would  not  stand  what  he  does.  So  far 
as  possible  he  gratifies  her  every  wish.  If  he  failed 
she  is  quite  capable  of  making  him  very  uncomfort- 
able. And  yet,  if  he  wishes  anything  of  which  she 
disapproves  she  does  not  hesitate  to  veto  it  point 
blank ;  and  he  submits  to  her  tyranny  in  order  to 
maintain  peace  in  the  household.  Nevertheless, 
with  some  she  is  very  popular,  particularly  those 
who  only  know  her  in  a  casual  way.  But  she  can 
be  very  ill-tempered  and  exacting  if  she  likes.  Did 
you  notice  how  angry  she  was  because  that  inof- 
fensive cat  was  out  of  its  domain  ?  She  seemed  to 
exult  over  the  fact  that  she  never  notices  it  any 


Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred. 


157 


more  than  she  would  a  stick,  as  if  it  would  demean 
her  to  notice  the  poor  thing  occasionally.  Shocking 
of  me  to  berate  her  in  this  manner  after  having 
'eaten  of  her  salt,'  isn't  it?  But  some  people 
exasperate  you  so  that  you  must  give  expression  to 
your  feelings." 

4*  She  unconsciously  gave  her  candid  opinion  of 
me  over  Madame  Dupont's  shoulders,"  said  Laura 
laughingly. 

;'  I  was  about  to  tell  you,"  continued  Mrs.  Ver- 
noyse,  "of  a  Mrs.  Barrington  I  once  knew,  who 
permitted  her  child  to  amuse  himself  by  tormenting 
a  young  pup.  He  pulled  its  tail,  pinched  its  ears, 
poked  its  eyes  nearly  out,  and  did  all  that  only  a 
vicious,  ill-bred  child  would  think  of  doing.  The 
poor  pup  was  as  thin  as  a  rail,  and  had  a  worried 
expression  pitiful  to  see.  On  asking  Mrs.  Barring- 
ton  if  it  were  sick,  she  replied,  'O  no;  Zip  is  per- 
fectly well.  But  my  Eddie  is  too  much  for  him  and 
torments  him  dreadfully.'  With  that  she  picked  up 
the  abused  animal  and  tossed  him  back  to  his  tor- 
mentor. Zip  instinctively  crawled  away,  but  the 
mother  roughly  snatched  him  up  again  and  placing 
him  in  the  child's  lap  boxed  his  ears  and  bade  him 
lie  quiet.  Poor  little  Zip  hid  his  head  under  Eddie's 
apron,  and  lay  there  trembling,  not  knowing  what  to 
expect  next.  Mrs.  Barrington  laughingly  assured 
me  that  Eddie  had  either  destroyed  or  become 
wearied  of  all  his  other  toys,  and  Zip,  being  the 
latest,  was  the  only  thing  that  amused  him  and 
kept  him  from  screaming.    So  poor  Zip  was  to  be 


158       Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred. 

sacrificed  until  be  too  was  maimed,  or  destroyed,  or 
wearied  of.  No  noble-minded  woman  would  have 
permitted  such  a  thing  or  encouraged  a  child  in  such 
wanton  instincts.  But  she  seemed  totally  devoid  of 
kindly  feeling.  She  did  not  even  teach  the  child  to 
be  gentle  with  poor  Zip.  To  her  he  was  only  a  dog 
and  his  discomfort  not  worth  considering." 

44  What  became  of  Zip?  "  asked  Laura. 

"  You  remember  Nemo,  my  spaniel?  " 

u  I  do  indeed." 

"Well,  Nemo  was  once  little  Zip.  I  could  not 
endure  to  think  of  him  in  that  rough  boy's  clutches, 
and  the  very  next  day  I  bought  a  handsome  4  woolly 
bow-wow '  and  took  it  to  him.  It  being  far  more 
showy  than  Zip  he  readily  exchanged,  and  Mrs. 
Barrington  gave  Zip  to  me." 

Until  a  late  hour  that  night  Laura  sat  speculating 
upon  the  events  of  the  afternoon,  wondering  how 
Mr.  Cornell  would  feel  when  he  learned  that  inad- 
vertently she  had  made  the  acquaintance  of  his  wife. 
"  He  will  think  I  purposely  sought  her,"  she  mused, 
44  and  what  motive  will  he  imagine  prompted  me  to 
do  so." 


CHAPTER  XVI. 


ATLSFACTORY  arrangements  having 
been  made,  Madame  Dupont,  the  nomi- 
nal owner,  became  actual  proprietor 
of  the  Emporium.  One  morning  soon 
after  the  transaction  Lillian  came  running  to  Laura 
with  a  letter. 

"  Where  did  you  get  this?  "  Laura  asked,  trying 
to  speak  easily. 

"  From  the  postman,  auntie.  I  was  on  the  steps 
listening  to  the  organ-grinder  when  he  came,  so  I 
brought  it  right  up." 

Laura  laid  it  aside  as  if  it  were  of  no  importance. 
Lillian  looked  disappointed. 

11  Aren't  you  going  to  read  it,  auntie,"  she  asked. 
"Yes,  dear,  after  the  paper  is  read;  the  letter 
will  keep,  you  know." 

"  And  so  will  the  paper,  auntie." 
"  Yes,  but  the  paper  is  full  of  news  and  interest- 
ing, while  letters  are  oftentimes  a  bore.  So  many 
of  them  prove  to  be  only  advertisements,  or  cards 
of  invitation  to  some  millinery  opening  or  something 
of  the  kind." 

u  But,  auntie,"  was  the  persistent  reply,  "I  am 
sure  this  is  a  real  letter ;  and  the  postage  stamp  has 
a  woman's  head  on  it  instead  of  a  man's,  and  — 
seeing  I  brought  it  up  I  would  really  like  to  know." 

159 


160       Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred. 


k4  Very  well,  dear,  then  run  down  and  bring  me 
the  rest  of  the  paper.  Edmund  was  reading  it  when 
I  came  up,  but  he's  surely  done  with  it  now." 

While  Lillian  was  gone  Laura  quickly  removed 
the  letter  from  the  envelope  and  substituted  one  she 
had  a  day  or  so  before  received  from  a  lady  friend  in 
London  whom  Lillian  particularly  admired.  "I 
despise  such  deception,"  she  muttered,  4 4  but  what 
else  can  I  do?  I  dislike  to  grieve  the  child  by  a 
sharp  refusal,  and  evasive  answers  would  only 
arouse  her  curiosity  and  probably  cause  her  to  un- 
wittingly betray  me." 

On  returning  Lillian  exclaimed,  44  Oh,  you've 
opened  it,  auntie,  and  is  it  a  real  letter?" 

44  See  for  yourself,"  replied  Laura. 

Lillian  did  so,  read  a  few  lines,  then  turned  to  the 
signature,  while  a  smile  of  satisfaction  lighted  her 
face.  A  moment  afterward  she  bounded  off  to  pre- 
pare for  her  governess  and  the  school-room.  Laura 
then  opened  her  letter,  which  was  dated  at  the  Lang- 
ham  Hotel,  London,  and  ran  as  follows  :  — 

44  Dear  Miss  Burton  :  —  I  wrote  you  some  weeks 
ago  and  have  waited  day  after  day  for  your  reply, 
until  at  last  I  have  decided  that  my  letter  never 
reached  you.  The  nature  of  it  was  strictly  confi- 
dential and  concerned  only  you  and  myself. 

44  Please  answer  this  at  your  early  convenience, 
and  let  me  know  if  a  continued  correspondence  be- 
tween us  would  be  agreeable. 

Sincerely  yours, 

Harold  L.  Cornell." 


Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred.  161 

An  angry  light  flashed  from  Laura's  eyes.  "  Evi- 
dently his  wife  has  not  yet  written  him  of  my  call," 
she  decided  ;  ' '  otherwise  he  would  not  be  so  per- 
sistent in  forcing  his  attentions  upon  me.  But  why 
does  he  treat  me  as  he  might  an  adventuress  ?  I 
probably  encouraged  him  last  summer  believing  him 
to  be  unmarried,  and  honorable  as  well ;  but  that 
should  give  him  no  right  to  take  advantage  of  my 
ignorance  to  persecute  me  as  he  is  doing  now.  What 
can  be  his  motive,  anyway?  Would  he  ultimately 
be  daring  enough  to  propose  marriage  to  me,  think- 
ing that  if  once  on  the  other  side  of  the  world  I 
would  never  know  of  his  wife  ?  If  not  that,  what 
can  he  intend  ?  In  any  event  I'll  write  him  a  letter 
that  will  end  all  this  without  compromising  myself 
in  case  it  falls  into  other  hands." 

Taking  a  sheet  of  paper  she  impulsively  wrote  the 
following  :  — 

"Mr.  Harold  Cornell: — Your  letters  were  both 
received.  I  had  thought  my  silence  would  have 
caused  you  to  conclude  that  I  had  discovered  you'as 
you  are.  Your  recent  letter,  therefore,  is  a  surprise 
to  me,  and  I  write  this  only  to  let  you  know  most  em- 
phatically that  a  correspondence  between  us,  or  even 
further  acquaintance,  would  be  decidedly  objection- 
able. You  may  understand  my  reasons  when  I  men- 
tion tljat  I  have  recently  been  introduced  to  Mrs. 
Harold  L.  Cornell,  your  neglected  wife. 
Yours  very  truly, 

The  '  Lady  of  the  Robins.' 
New  York,  April  19th." 


162       Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred. 


Laura  placed  the  letter  in  an  envelope,  wrote  the 
address,  and  was  in  the  act  of  sealing  it  when  Mrs. 
Burton  unceremoniously  entered  the  room. 

"  I  knocked,"  she  said  apologetically,  "  but  you 
evidently  did  not  hear  me,  so  I  took  the  liberty  of 
walking  in." 

Laura  was  dismayed,  nevertheless  she  laid  the 
envelope  carelessly  aside,  hoping  it  would  escape 
notice.    But  Mrs.  Burton's  eyes  were  keen. 

"  To  whom  are  you  writing,"  she  asked  curiously. 

Laura  hesitated. 

"It's  no  secret,  surely?  No  more  millinery 
schemes  in  prospect,  I  hope?" 

uO  no,"  was  the  indifferent  reply. 

"  Let  me  see  the  letter,"  said  Mrs.  Burton,  rather 
peremptorily. 

Laura  made  no  move  to  comply,  whereupon  Mrs. 
Burton  coolly  reached  over,  took  up  the  letter,  and 
read  the  address. 

"Indeed!"  she  exclaimed  in  tones  of  surprise. 
"  It  is  something  of  a  secret,  then,  after  all?  How 
long  have  you  been  carrying  on  a  clandestine  cor- 
respondence with  Mr.  Cornell  ?  " 

"  This  is  the  first  time  I  have  written  him." 

"And  he  —  ?" 

"  Has  written  me  twice." 

"  Show  me  his  letters." 

"  I  have  destroyed  them." 

"  Do  you  object  to  my  reading  your  answer?" 

"I  do  most  certainly." 

"  Suppose  I  insist  on  reading  it?  " 


Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred.  163 


44 1  am  sure  you  will  not  clo  that,  mother,  and  I 
will  never  give  my  consent." 

"  Why  do  you  so  strongly  object?  " 

44  Because  it  is  of  interest  to  only  myself." 

44  And  to  Mr.  Cornell,  I  suppose?" 

Her  skeptical  tone  caused  the  color  to  mantle 
Laura's  cheek,  which  was  naturally  misconstrued. 

"  Suppose  your  objection  is  not  sustained,  and 
that  I  read  it  without  your  consent?  " 

44  It  is  sealed,"  was  the  evasive  reply. 

"  That  does  not  matter  ;  it  can  easily  be  unsealed." 

Mrs.  Burton  made  a  move  as  though  to  open  the 
envelope.  Every  vestige  of  color  swept  from  Laura's 
face.    She  rose  to  her  feet. 

44  Mother,"  she  said  in  alow,  intense  tone,  44 1  do 
not  wish  to  displease  you,  but  I  am  not  a  child  to 
be  treated  in  this  manner,  nor  with  unjust  suspicion  ; 
and  if  you  read  that  letter  I  shall  leave  your  house 
forever." 

44  AVhere  would  you  go,  pray?" 

44  To  Mrs.  Vernoyse.  She  would  receive  me  and 
make  me  welcome.  '  I  have  recently  learned  that  she 
wanted  me  when  a  child,  and  her  affection  for  me 
to-day  is  as  strong  as  ever." 

Mrs.  Burton  suddenly  changed  her  tactics.  44 1 
have  no  wish  to  pry  into  your  private  affairs,"  she 
said.  44  You  surely  can  be  trusted  with  the  responsi- 
bility of  them  yourself,  after  the  careful  training  you 
have  received  from  me.  I  wished  merely  to  test 
your  daughterly  confidence,  that  was  all.  As  for 
Mr.  Cornell,  he  was  certainly  a  pleasant  neighbor ; 


164       Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred. 


but  our  acquaintance  with  him  was  too  slight  for 
me  to  pass  judgment,  either  favorable  or  otherwise  ; 
consequently,  I  think  a  correspondence  with  him 
would  be  quite  improper,  and  as  your  mother  —  your 
natural  adviser  —  I  do  not  demand,  but  ask  as  a 
favor  that  you  destroy  this  letter  and  promise  to  not 
write  him  again." 

Laura  meditated  a  moment,  then  tore  it  into  atoms. 

"  You  will  not  write  another  ?"  her  mother  ques- 
tioned. 

£*  No,"  was  the  calm  reply.  4 'What  I  have  to 
say  to  Mr.  Cornell  can  be  said  verbally  as  well." 

"  I  will  assume  the  responsibility  and  write  Mr. 
Cornell  a  note  of  explanation,"  said  Mrs.  Burton, 
"  relieving  you  of  all  odium  in  the  matter." 

"  I  beg  you  to  do  nothing  of  the  kind,"  exclaimed 
Laura.  u  If  I  ever  see  him  I  can  make  any  expla- 
nation that  may  be  necessary." 

"  Very  well,  it  shall  be  as  you  wish." 

Mrs.  Burton  walked  a  few  paces  away,  then  sud- 
denly remembering  her  errand  turned  back.  41  By 
the  way,"  she  said,  "  I  came  in  merely  to  tell  you 
that  Mrs.  Herbert  Montgomery  wishes  us  to  join  her 
theatre  party  next  Thursday  evening."  Then  with 
an  air  of  offended  dignity  Mrs.  Norman  Burton 
swept  from  the  room. 

Laura  breathed  freer.  "  What  an  escape  !  "  she 
mused.  "So  I  am  to  be  trusted  because  of  my 
4  careful  training.'  Oh  !  what  if  she  had  read  it  and 
discovered  the  truth  !  He,  a  married  man,  and  in 
secret  correspondence  with  me.    Alas  !  he  deserves 


Some  of  Xew  York's  Four  Hundred.  165 


to  be  betrayed,  but  I  cannot  do  it.  I  have  no  wish 
to  publicly  disgrace  him,  although  he  might  not  hesi- 
tate to  disgrace  and  to  degrade  me.  And  yet 
mother  must  some  time  know  that  he  has  a  wife  ; 
they  all  must  know  in  time,  unless  he  disposes  of 
1  Glenmoyne  '  and  never  returns.  But  the  rest  they 
shall  never  know —  no  one  shall  ever  know  '  " 


CHAPTER  XVII. 


ARLY  in  May  Mrs.  Burton  arranged  to 
pass  another  summer  at  "  Wildwood." 
To  her  surprise  Laura  objected,  and 
suggested  a  trip  through  Scotland  or 
Germany  instead. 

"I  thought  you  preferred  'Wildwood'  to  any 
other  place,"  said  her  mother.  "  Last  season  you 
seemed  enchanted.  I  expected  objections  from 
Helen  but  not  from  you." 

"  '  Wildwood'  is  delightful,  but  I  would  like  a 
change  this  season,"  said  Laura. 

u  I  am  sorry  you  are  so  vacillating,"  returned 
Mrs.  Burton  dryly,  "  for  I  have  positively  arranged 
to  go  there  next  week.  My  throat  has  troubled  me 
for  several  days,  and  a  sea- voyage  would  not  be  at 
all  advisable." 

u  Why  not  go  to  the  mountains  or  to  Newport?  " 
asked  Laura. 

"  Simply  because  I  have  decided  on  '  Wildwood.' 
The  air  agrees  with  me  perfectly ;  there  can  be  no 
possible  objection." 

Laura  said  no  more.  She  could  only  accept  the 
inevitable.  But  the  thought  of  going  back  was 
painful.  The  past  would  be  brought  vividly  to  her 
mind  ;  she  would  live  it  all  over  again,  and  the  grief, 

166 


Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred.  167 


and  humiliation.  But  there  seemed  no  alternative, 
and  a  few  days  later  Laura  Burton  was  back  at 
"  Wildwood." 

At  first  she  shunned  the  old  haunts  and  familiar 
scenes.  Then  becoming  restless  she  longed  to  roam 
about  as  of  old,  but  she  went  alone.  Even  Lillian's 
companionship  was  unwelcome  ;  her  ceaseless  chatter 
annoyed  her. 

"  How  I  regretted  to  leave  here  last  fall,"  she 
muttered  while  looking  along  the  road  she  had  tra- 
versed that  bright  September  morning.  "How  I 
anticipated  returning.  Alas  !  I  am  here,  but  how 
changed  all  things  seem,  and  now  I  wish  I  were  far 
away." 

On  reaching  the  tree  where  Mr.  Cornell  had  se- 
cured the  young  robins  for  her,  she  sank  down  on 
the  green  grass,  and  ere  long  unbidden  tears  came 
to  her  eyes.  "  What  a  foolish  creature  I  was,"  she 
mused,  "  to  give  him  my  affection  as  I  did.  And 
he  !  Heaven  forgive  him  for  leading  me  on.  For 
now  I  know  that  he  did  make  love  to  me  if  only 
with  his  eyes.  I  knew  it  intuitively  then,  although 
afterward  I  tried  to  exonerate  him  by  believing  that 
I  was  mistaken.  I  might  believe  that  I  was  still 
mistaken  only  for  his  letter  of  open  confession." 

While  sitting  there  she  resolved  never  to  see  Mr. 
Cornell  again.  Possibly  he  had  given  her  up.  If 
so,  well  and  good.  But  if  he  wrote  again,  or  en- 
deavored to  see  her,  she  would  make  a  confidante  of 
Mrs.  Vernoyse,  and  under  the  promise  of  secrecy 
implore  her  to  act  for  her  in  the  matter.    Since  re- 


168       Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred. 


turning  to  "  TVildwood  "  Laura  did  not  feel  quite  so 
sure  of  herself ;  that  is,  not  quite  so  sure  of  the 
intense  hate  she  imagined  she  had  entertained  for 
him.    Hence  her  sudden  resolution. 

The  next  day  she  suggested  that  Lillian  go  over 
to  "  Glenmoyne  "  to  see  her  old  friends  once  more. 
"  Don't  mention  that  I  sent  you,"  she  added,  "  but 
simply  see  if  the  house  is  open,  and  if  your  pet  ani- 
mals are  all  there." 

u  And,  auntie,  I  would  like  to  know  if  Mr.  Cornell 
is  there,  and  Major  Upton." 

"  Very  well,  you  will  probably  find  out." 

An  hour  later  Lillian  returned  with  wonderful 
news  to  report. 

"  O,  I  had  such  a  lovely  time  !  "  she  cried,  "  and 
I  got  ice  cream  and  cake,  and  a  ride  on  Jumbo's 
back  —  Jumbo's  the  big  shaggy  dog  —  and  I  can't 
tell  everything,  there's  so  much  to  tell." 

"Is  Major  Upton  there?  "  asked  Laura. 

"No,  auntie,  but — O  yes,  I  forgot  —  Mr.  Cor- 
nell is  coming  home.  He's  in  England,  and  he'll  be 
here  next  Thursday,  and  they're  hurrying  to  get  the 
house  all  fixed  up  before  he  comes.  And  they've 
got  such  lovely  new  things,  curtains  and  porch- 
chairs,  and  such  a  beautiful  hammock,  and  two 
lovely  pictures  most  as  high  as  this  room.  Mr.  Cor- 
nell sent  them  home  ahead  of  him." 

"  Next  Thursday,"  thought  Laura.  "  One  week 
from  to-morrow  and  he  will  be  here.  Evidently  he 
is  coming  to  remain  ;  how  dare  he  do  it?  How  shall 


Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred.  169 

I  manage  to  avoid  him  ?  Must  I  keep  housed  up 
all  summer  for  fear  of  meeting  him?  " 

Her  linal  decision  was  to  leave  "  YVildwood  "  the 
day  before  Mr.  Cornell  arrived  at  "  Glenmoyne." 
Then  her  going  would  in  no  way  be  connected  with 
him,  as  she  was  not  supposed  to  know  that  he  was 
coming.  In  order  to  avoid  all  explanations  to  her 
mother  she  determined  to  go  to  New  York,  as  she 
occasionally  did  for  an  afternoon.  When  there  she 
would  confide  fully  in  Mrs.  Vernoyse,  and  ask  per- 
mission to  accompany  her  to  Newport  for  the  sum- 
mer, inasmuch  as  that  lady  was  making  active 
preparations  for  going  within  a  fortnight.  From 
town  she  would  write  her  mother  of  her  plans,  and 
request  that  Zoa,  her  maid,  pack  her  trunks  and 
follow  with  them  to  Newport.  That  course  would 
preclude  all  possibility  of  an  encounter  with  Mr. 
Cornell,  either  at  "Wildwood,"  in  case  he  called,  or 
within  its  environs. 

"  Mother  will  think  it  a  strange  move  that  I  don't 
run  up  from  town  before  starting  for  Newport," 
thought  Laura.  "  But  I  prefer  to  placate  her  later 
on  than  run  the  chance  of  meeting  him.  If  he 
follows  me  to  Newport,  which  I  sincerely  hope  he 
will,  Mrs.  Vernoyse  will  not  hesitate  to  see  him  in 
my  stead,  and  let  him  know  that  his  perfidy  is  dis- 
covered, and  denounce  him  in  her  own  name  as  well 
as  mine.  That  will  end  the  matter  at  once  and 
forever." 

The  week  dragged  heavily.  In  a  quiet  way  Laura 
made  many  little  preparations  toward  her  approach- 


170       Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred. 

ing  flight ;  the  rest  would  devolve  on  the  imsus- 
pecting  Zoa  after  she  had  gone.  The  day  of  de- 
parture arrived  clear  and  cool.  From  the  breakfast- 
room  Laura  went  out  for  a  farewell  ramble,  feeling 
very  depressed,  and  loath  to  converse  with  any 
member  of  the  family. 

"I'll  gather  a  bunch  of  wood  violets  for  Mrs. 
Veruoyse,"  she  thought,  "  and  one  for  myself,  as  a 
farewell  memento."  With  that  intent  she  walked 
towards  the  woods,  until  reaching  a  mossy  bank 
profusely  decorated  with  them,  she  sat  down.  By 
her  watch  it  was  nine  o'clock.  They  lunched  at  two, 
and  at  three-thirty  she  would  take  the  train  for  New 
York. 

An  hour  passed,  then  the  sun  broke  through  the 
leaves  of  the  tree  under  which  she  sat,  and  threw  its 
rays  directly  across  her  face.  She  rose  to  change 
her  position,  but  instead  stood  motionless,  as  though 
rooted  to  the  spot,  while  the  color  receded  from  her 
face.  Not  more  than  a  hundred  yards  away,  and 
advancing  rapidly  toward  her,  was  the  man  of  all 
others  from  whom  she  wished  to  escape.  A  groan 
passed  her  lips  as  she  saw  that  at  the  last  moment, 
as  it  were,  fate  had  conspired  against  her  and 
thwarted  her  plans.  All  unconscious  of  her  pertur- 
bation he  hastened  nearer,  utterly  unprepared  for 
her  reception.  Her  cheeks  suddenly  flushed,  her 
breath  came  fast.  No  longer  could  she  feign  even 
a  cool  politeness.  Her  one  thought  was  to  convince 
him  of  his  error  without  betraying  the  fact  that  she 
had  ever  cared  for  him. 


Some  of  Xeiv  York's  Four  Hundred.  171 


He  approached  looking  so  pleased  to  have  found 
her,  and  so  perfectly  frank  and  honest,  that  she 
looked  upon  him  in  amazement. 

"  This  is  indeed  a  pleasure,"  he  exclaimed,  ex- 
tending his  hand.  "The  morning  being  so  fine  I 
felt  sure  you  would  be  out  enjoying  it,  and  I  am 
glad  my  impressions  were  correct." 

She  did  not  accept  his  offered  hand,  nor  speak  ; 
she  only  stared  at  him  blankly.  In  his  eagerness 
he  did  not  observe.  He  only  saw  her  flushed  cheeks, 
and  construed  her  manner  into  surprise  because  of 
his  sudden  appearance,  for  he  believed  that  she  still 
thought  him  in  England. 

"I  came  up  a  day  earlier  than  I  intended,"  he 
proceeded  frankly,  "  for  the  express  purpose  of 
seeing  you.  I  called  at  your  town  house,  but  on 
learning  you  were  here  I  lost  no  time  in  following." 

Still  she  made  no  answer — no  sign  of  recognition. 
"He  does  not  know,"  she  was  saying  to  herself . 
"  He  does  not  suspect  that  I  have  found  him  out." 

Had  she  been  any  other  than  Laura  Burton,  he 
would  have  interpreted  her  manner  differently.  But 
he  knew  instinctively  that  she  had  loved  him,  and  she 
must  have  known  as  well  that  he  loved  her.  More- 
over, he  considered  her  a  typical  woman  ;  a  woman 
who  was  steadfast,  and  who  would  not  swerve  in  her 
affections,  and  for  that  reason  he  did  not  believe 
his  letters  had  reached  her.  He  had  had  sufficient 
insight  into  Mrs.  Burton's  character  to  judge  her 
capable  of  scrutinizing  her  daughter's  correspond- 
ence, and  of  withholding  any  communications  she 


172       Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred, 

felt  disposed  ;  and  long  before  leaving  England  he 
decided  that  Laura  had  never  received  them. 

44  While  in  London,"  he  said,  "  I  wrote  you  two 
letters,  but  I  never  received  an  answer." 

44 1  am  well  aware  of  that  fact,"  she  returned 
coldly. 

He  looked  up  in  quick  surprise.  "  Did  you  re- 
ceive them?"  he  asked. 

44  Yes,  I  received  them." 

"  Why  did  you  not  answer?  " 

She  drew  herself  up  proudly  ;  the  color  again  left 
her  cheeks.  He  expected  to  hear  her  say  :  44  Be- 
cause I  was  not  permitted  ;  my  mother  forbade  me." 
But  Mr.  Cornell  was  mistaken.  Miss  Burton's 
answer  was  quite  unlike  what  he  anticipated. 

"  Why  did  I  not  answer?"  she  repeated  in  tones 
of  scorn.    ' '  Do  }^ou  ask  me  that  ?  —  you  ?  " 

A  shade  passed  over  his  face ;  he  stepped  back 
amazed  —  doubtful. 

44  Mr.  Cornell,"  she  continued  in  suppressed  tones, 
44  what  cause  have  I  given  you  to  insult  me  as  you 
have  done  ?  Have  I  unconsciously  led  you  to  infer 
that  I  am  a  woman  of  no  principle?" 

He  looked  at  her  incredulously.  ' '  How  and  when 
have  I  insulted  you,  Miss  Burton?"  he  asked  with 
dignity. 

44  By  offering  me  your  love,"  she  answered. 

For  the  moment  he  made  no  reply ;  he  was  too 
dumbfounded  to  speak.    Then  he  asked  gravely : 

44  Do  you  consider  it  an  insult  for  an  honorable 
man  to  offer  his  love  to  a  woman  ?  Is  it  a  reflection 


Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred.  173 


on  her  morals?  If  so,  my  father  once  insulted  my 
mother,  your  father  insulted  yours,  and  thousands 
of  good,  pure  women  are  being  insulted  every  day  by 
men  good  and  true.  Have  I  rightly  interpreted  your 
meaning,  Miss  Burton?" 

"  No,  you  have  not.  I  did  not  say  nor  intimate 
that  it  would  be  an  insult  for  an  honorable  man  to 
offer  a  woman  his  love.  I  only  said  that  you  have 
insulted  me  by  offering  yours." 

"  What  am  I  to  understand  by  that?"  he  asked 
haughtily. 

"  Mr.  Cornell,"  she  returned  with  visible  con- 
tempt, "  I  am  in  no  mood  for  a  comedy  —  a  farce, 
rather.  So  please  do  not  feign  ignorance  of  my 
meaning." 

"  I  feign  nothing  !  "  he  retorted  with  rising  anger. 
"  I  am  completely  mystified  as  to  your  meaning." 

"Then  I  will  speak  more  plainly.  I  have  dis- 
covered everything ;  I  know  you  as  you  are  ;  know 
the  double  life  you  are  living  ;  know  you  to  be  dis- 
honorable in  the  extreme,  and  one  of  the  most  bold 
and  reckless  of  men,  else  you  would  not  dare  speak 
to  me  as  you  have  done  almost  within  stone's  throw 
of  those  whom  you  are  wronging." 

He  folded  his  arms  and  looked  upon  her  calmly. 
All  trace  of  anger  had  fled.  Nevertheless  a  tinge  of 
irony  was  visible  as  he  said  : 

"  Miss  Burton,  will  you  kindly  tell  me  what  you 
have  discovered,  and  in  what  way  I  have  been  '  dis- 
honorable in  the  extreme?  '  " 

"  Your  air  of  injured  innocence  is  very  cleverly 


174       Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred. 


assumed,"  she  replied  ;  'k  but  it  is  quite  iu  vain,  and 
only  dishonors  you  the  more." 

"  I  positively  assert  that  I  have  not  the  remotest 
idea  of  what  all  this  means."  he  returned,  with  mar- 
vellous good  temper.  "  I  am  either  the  victim  of 
some  practical  joke,  or — "  He  paused  abruptly. 
"  Perhaps  you  have  discovered,  or  think  you  have 
discovered,  that  I  am  some  criminal  escaped  from 
justice  ;  some  forger,  possibly.  If  so,  I  shall  be  com- 
pelled to  prove  a  case  of  mistaken  identity." 

Mistaken  identity '  does  not  enter  into  this 
case,"  she  replied  sternly,  "  nor  are  you  charged 
with  being  either  a  forger  or  a  criminal  of  any  kind. 
I  merely  charge  you  with  treacherously  making  love 
to  me  when  you  have  a  wife." 

"  A  wife — I  a  wife  ?  "  Then  he  laughed  outright. 
u Is  that  all  you  have  against  me?"  he  asked,  a 
look  of  amusement  lighting  his  face. 

"Is  not  that  under  the  circumstances  quite 
enough?"  she  demanded. 

"It  might  be,  I  admit,  if  she  were  real;  but  as 
she  is  purely  mythical  the  case  is  altered." 

"  Do  you  deny  having  a  wife?  " 

u  I  do  most  emphatically." 

"  And  I  positively  assert  that  your  denial  is  false  ! 
I  have  seen  her,  conversed  with  her,  and  proved  con- 
clusively that  what  you  say  is  as  base  as  it  is  untrue." 

His  face  flushed  hotly  ;  her  words  stung  deep. 

"  Did  the  woman  actually  claim  to  be  my  wife?  " 

' 1  She  did  ;  she  spoke  of  you  as  her  husband  re- 
peatedly." 


Some  of  Xeic  York's  Four  Hundred. 


175 


"  And  do  you  believe  her  word  in  preference  to 
mine  ?  " 

"I  am  forced  to  do  so." 
"Why?" 

Ci  Because  everything  in  evidence  proves  her  claim 
to  be  correct.  She  named  your  characteristics,  men- 
tioned your  being  in  London  in  search  of  claims, 
she  had  your  photograph,  besides  innumerable  other 
proofs." 

"  Miss  Burton,"  he  returned  gravely,  ;<  this  is  all 
very  mystifying,  but  believe  me  it  is  false.  You  are 
deceived.  The  woman,  whoever  she  be,  is  either  an 
adventuress  or  alunatie.  She  sought  }~ou  out  and 
told  you  what  she  did  because  of  some  evil  designs 
on  me.  Who  is  she?  Where  does  she  live?  Give 
me  her  address  and  my  first  act  shall  be  to  confront 
her  and  disprove  every  word  she  has  said." 

"  She  is  Mrs.  Harold  Cornell,"  was  the  slightly 
sarcastic  reply,  "  and  she  lives  in  3-our  town  resi- 
dence, although  she  has  never  yet  graced  '  Glen- 
moyne.'  As  for  being  an  adventuress  or  a  lunatic, 
it  is  positively  shocking  for  you  to  speak  of  your 
wife  in  that  manner.  Xor  did  she  seek  me  because 
of  designs  on  you.  I  sought  her  instead,  and  found 
her  an  eminently  respectable  woman  —  a  handsome 
woman.  And  in  her  name  I  resent  your  false  and 
malicious  charges." 

His  face  suddenly  lighted.  4 ;  There  may  be  an- 
other Harold  Cornell  in  Xew  York."  he  said  quickly. 
4 '  Very  probably  there  is,  and  consequently  a  Mrs. 
Harold  Cornell.    It  is  she  you  have  seen.    In  any 


176       Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred. 


event,  she  is  in  no  way  connected  with  me.  I  never 
saw  her,  never  heard  of  her  before." 

A  flash  of  scorn  shot  from  her  eyes.  "  I  regret 
to  contradict  you  again,  Mr.  Cornell,"  she  said, 
"but  your  memory  is  treacherous,  and  your  last 
statement  incorrect.  I  once  saw  you  with  her  my- 
self, and  she  afterward  spoke  of  you  as  her  husband." 

"Where  were  we?  —  where  did  you  see  us?"  he 
asked  calmly. 

Laura  hesitated.  She  might  have  safely  named 
the  Emporium  without  betraying  her  connection  with 
it,  and  he  would  have  understood  his  ground,  but  he 
was  thrown  off  his  guard  when  she  replied  instead 
that  she  had  seen  them  on  the  street  together  prior 
to  his  going  abroad. 

"On  what  street?"  he  asked  with  apparent 
eagerness. 

"  On  Fifth  Avenue."  Her  answer  was  vague  and 
misleading,  although  truthful  so  far  as  it  went.  Had 
she  mentioned  having  seen  them  in  a  carriage  ac- 
companied by  a  child  resembling  himself,  he  would 
have  given  in,  so  far  as  admitting  that  she  had  seen 
him.  As  it  was,  he  believed  her  mistaken ;  never- 
theless he  tried  to  think  of  any  casual  acquaintance 
with  whom  he  might  have  been  seen.  He  remembered 
meeting  Florence  Morton  one  day  just  as  he  emerged 
from  the  Academy  of  Music.  Another  time  he  had 
walked  a  block  or  two  with  Mrs.  Paxton,  the  wife 
of  an  intimate  friend.  He  had  also  ridden  on  horse- 
back along  the  avenue  and  through  Central  Park 
with  Catherine  St.  John.    But  it  was  absurd,  and 


Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred.  177 

out  of  the  question  to  think  that  any  one  of  those 
would  falsely  claim  to  be  his  wife,  and  he  was  posi- 
tive that  Miss  Burton  had  seen  him  with  no  one  else. 
The  matter  was  becoming  serious ;  he  appeared 
greatly  annoyed. 

"You  evidently  have  a  chain  of  circumstantial 
evidence  against  me,"  he  said,  "but  give  me  time 
and  I  Mill  break  every  link.  It  is  only  an  intrigue, 
a  plot.  The  woman  cannot  substantiate  her  claim. 
She  has  no  certificate  of  marriage  ;  no  proof  unless 
it  be  forged,  and  that  can  readily  be  detected  and 
disproved." 

Laura  moved  impatiently. 

"  Tell  me  her  street  and  number,"  he  continued, 
unheeding  her  manner.  "  This  thing  must  be  settled 
before  the  sun  sets,  and  I've  no  time  to  lose." 

She  was  too  indignant  to  reply.  From  her  stand- 
point he  was  checkmated,  knew  of  no  other  move  to 
make,  and  merely  wished  some  pretext  by  which 
to  escape.  She  gave  him  a  contemptuous  glance, 
then  turned  away  without  one  word  of  farewell. 

He  hurriedly  stepped  in  front  of  her.  She  drew 
haughtily  aside. 

"  Mr.  Cornell,"  she  said  with  calm  dignity,  "per- 
mit me  to  pass,  and  be  kind  enough  to  consider  our 
acquaintance  ended." 

"Miss  Burton,"  he  replied  with  amazing  assur- 
ance, "pardon  me  if  my  words  sound  rude,  but  I 
shall  do  nothing  of  the  kind.  Our  acquaintance  is 
not  ended ;  nor  shall  it  end  in  this  manner.  I  de- 
mand justice.     The  blackest  criminal  is  entitled 


178       Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred. 

to  that ;  he  is  granted  a  full  hearing,  a  chance  to  de- 
fend himself  and  to  prove  his  innocence.  I  not 
only  want  justice  for  my  own  satisfaction  but  be- 
cause of  my  love  for  you.  I  have  loved  you  long 
and  devotedly.  I  love  you  now,  and  I  cannot  per- 
mit you  to  denounce  me  as  you  have  and  go  on  be- 
lieving me  a  scoundrel,  without  a  protest.  After  I 
have  disproved  your  charge  and  am  fully  exonerated, 
then  if  you  still  wish  to  discontinue  my  acquaintance, 
I  shall  be  compelled  to  withdraw." 

"  Are  you  really  willing  to  have  this  case  investi- 
gated?" she  asked  searchingly. 

"  Yes,  a  thousand  times  willing." 

"  Are  you  willing  to  have  it  made  public?  —  will- 
ing to  face  the  woman  who  calls  herself  yonr  wife  ?  " 

"  Yes,  more  than  willing.  I  am  eager,  impatient ! 
Where  is  she  ?  " 

44  You  have  no  idea  then  who  she  is  or  where  she 
lives?" 

"  Not  the  slightest." 

For  a  moment  Laura  was  silent.  A  pained  look 
swept  across  her  face  ;  her  expression  was  anxious, 
entreating. 

"Mr.  Cornell,"  she  began  gravely,  "  I  would 
have  spared  you  ;  not  that  you  deserve  any  consider- 
ation from  me,  but — ."  She  suddenly  paused  and 
turned  away  her  face,  her  lip  quivered.  Presently 
reasserting  herself  she  proceeded:  "  I  would  have 
spared  you  because  of  our  pleasant  acquaintance 
last  summer.  You  refuse  to  be  spared  ;  very  well, 
the  consequence  be  on  your  own  head.    Meet  me  at 


Some  of  Xew  York's  Four  Hundred.  179 

—  Madison  Avenue  this  afternoon  at  half  after 
four,  and  accompanied  by  our  mutual  friend,  Mrs. 
Archibald  Vernoyse,  we  will  confront  Mrs.  Harold 
Cornell." 

"  I  will  be  there,"  he  replied,  "  ready  to  confront 
a  thousand  4  Mrs.  Harold  Cornells,'  and  to  disprove 
the  title  of  each  and  every  one  of  them  so  far  as  I 
am  concerned.  But  who  is  Mrs.  Archibald  Ver- 
noyse, the  '  mutual  friend  '  you  referred  to?  " 

"  Do  you  also  deny  acquaintance  with  her?" 
I  do.  I  have  not  the  honor  of  her  acquaintance 
any  more  than  I  have  of  the  others  connected  with 
this  conspiracy."  His  tone  was  slightly  sarcastic 
as  he  added  :  ' '  She  evidently  is  another  important 
link  in  the  chain  against  me." 

Without  replying,  Miss  Burton  walked  rapidly 
away.  His  barefaced  denial  of  everything  was  to 
her  intolerable,  and  she  felt  exceedingly  bitter  at  his 
effrontery  in  trying  to  deceive,  and  impose  on  her 
credulity  in  the  face  of  such  facts. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 


OR  a  time  Mr.  Cornell  remained  standing 
where  she  had  left  him.  He  was  angry, 
grieved,  and  mystified. 

u  And  this  is  the  reception  I  was  so 
eagerly  hastening  to  !  "  he  exclaimed  bitterly.  "For 
many  months  I  have  loved  her,  and  thought  of  her, 
longing  to  see  her,  and  all  that  time  she  was  being 
prejudiced  against  me.  "What  enemy  have  I  capable 
of  doing  me  such  a  wrong  ?  AVho  could  have  told 
her?  Or  is  it  a  scheme  of  some  designing  woman? 
This  Mrs.  Vernoyse,  for  instance,  who  perhaps  is  a 
man-hater,  and  knowing  me  to  be  rich,  has  lent  her 
hand  toward  dragging  me  down.  Other  men  have 
been  annoyed  in  the  same  way,  but  this  affair  is  the 
first  of  the  kind  I've  ever  encountered,  and  it  shall 
be  sifted  to  the  very  bottom,  until  the  sinister  mo- 
tive of  this  Vernoyse  woman  —  this  Jezebel,  is  dis- 
covered." 

The  most  perplexing,  the  most  aggravating  fea- 
ture of  the  case  was  the  possibility  of  Miss  Burton 
having  seen  him  with  his  enemy.  That  was  indeed 
a  matter  for  consideration. 

It  was  just  four  o'clock  when  Miss  Burton  was 
ushered  into  Mrs.  Vernoyse'  boudoir.    Mrs.  Ver- 

180 


Some  of  Xeiv  York's  Four  Hundred.  181 


noyse  quickly  detected  that  something  unusual  had 
transpired,  and  anxiously  asked  what  it  was. 

4 4 1  have  so  much  to  tell  you,"  began  Laura,  "  that 
really  I  don't  know  where  to  begin,  and  what  will 
surprise  you  is  that  it  concerns  Mr.  Cornell ;  the 
man  you  beiieve  to  be  so  honorable,  so  loyal  to  his 
wife,  and  so  incapable  of  wrong." 

"Mr.  Cornell?"  repeated  Mrs.  Vernoyse  in  as- 
tonishment. 44  Is  he  home  — has  he  returned  from 
London?" 

"  Yes,  he  returned  yesterday.  Do  you  remember 
that  during  our  drive  the  day  we  called  there  I  ex- 
pressed surprise  because  he  remained  home  while  his 
wife  was  abroad  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  remember  it  very  well,  and  your  intima- 
tion that  some  other  woman  must  be  in  the  case." 

"My  intimation  was  perfectly  correct,"  replied 
Laura.  44  There  was  another  woman  in  the  case, 
and — heaven  forgive  me — that  woman  was  myself." 

Mrs.  Vernoyse  raised  her  hands  protestingly. 

"  Hear  me  through  before  you  pass  judgment," 
said  Laura.  44 1  was  perfectly  innocent,  and  more 
sinned  against  than  sinning.  I  could  have  told  you 
then  that  you  were  deceived  in  Mr.  Cornell ;  that  I 
knew  him  far  better  than  you.  But  I  refrained  from 
doing  so.  He  has  a  country  residence  near  4  Wild- 
wood,'  where  he  palms  himself  off  as  an  unmarried 
man.  We  became  acquainted  last  summer,  he  made 
love  to  me,  and  what  the  result  would  have  been 
had  I  not  discovered  the  truth  in  time  I  cannot  say." 

Mrs.  Vernoyse  was  greatly  agitated  and  anxious 


182 


Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred, 


to  know  full  particulars.  Laura  mentioned  having 
seen  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Cornell  together,  and  of  subse- 
quently learning  that  she  was  his  wife.  4*  When 
you  took  me  to  their  house  that  day/'  she  added, 

I  recognized  her  at  once,  and  my  reason  for  re- 
maining was  to  learn  all  that  I  could." 

44  Where  is  Mr.  Cornell  now?  " 

"  On  his  way  here.  He  called  on  me  directly  he 
landed,  learned  we  had  gone  to  the  country,  and 
followed." 

"  Have  you  seen  him  ?  " 

"  Yes,  this  very  day.  and  accused  him  of  his 
perfidy." 

What  did  he  say  for  himself?  " 

44  He  denied  everything;  swore  he  was  never 
married  ;  defied  Mrs.  Cornell  to  produce  a  marriage 
certificate  or  to  prove  her  marriage  ;  he  even  denied 
his  acquaintance  with  you." 

4>  Then  what  is  he  coming  here  for?  " 

44  To  confront  Mrs.  Cornell  in  our  presence,  and 
to  denounce  her  and  her  claim  on  him  as  fraudulent." 

"  And  to  deny  me  to  my  face.  I  suppose.  The 
man  is  crazy  !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Vernoyse.  44  He's 
4  clean  gone  daft,'  as  they  say  in  Scotland.  Upon 
my  word  it's  the  most  extraordinary  affair  I  ever 
heard  of,  and  the  most  incredible.  It's  another  proof 
that  the  biggest  fool  on  earth,  no  matter  whether 
young  or  old,  is  the  man  who  is  bewitched  by  a  wo- 
man. He's  as  senseless,  as  regardless  of  conse- 
quences as  was  Esau  when  he  sold  his  birthright 
ior  a  mess  of  pottage.    But  I  never  would  have 


Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred.  1^3 

believed  this  of  Mr.  Cornell.  I  thought  him  the 
soul  of  integrity." 

"  Do  you  know  anything  of  the  Cornell  family?  " 
asked  Laura. 

"  Indeed  yes.  They  are  Bostonians,  most  excel- 
lently connected.  I  met  them  in  society  some  two 
years  ago  and  have  kept  up  a  sort  of  acquaintance 
ever  since." 

Mrs.  Vernoyse  looked  upon  Laura  in  earnest 
solicitude.  A  new  thought  had  occurred  to  her. 
"  My  dear,"  she  said,  "  I  had  imagined  this  affair 
entirely  one-sided,  but  is  it  possible  that  you  love 
Mr.  Cornell?" 

"  No,  Mrs.  Vernoyse,  I  do  not.  I  feel  too  indig- 
nant, too  resentful,  to  entertain  for  him  any  feeling 
other  than  contempt." 

c<  Certainly,  since  discovering  his  wife,"  replied 
Mrs.  Vernoyse  shrewdly.  "  But  previous  to  that, 
last  summer  for  instance,  when  you  believed  him 
unmarried.    Did  you  love  him  then?  " 

Laura's  eyes  fell  beneath  her  earnest  gaze,  and 
Mrs.  Vernoyse  was  answered.  "It  is  too  bad," 
she  sighed,  "  I  am  more  sorry  than  you  know.  Poor 
girl,  you  have  had  your  own  sorrow  and  borne  it 
bravely."  Mentally  she  added:  "You  loved  him 
then  and  you  love  him  now.  You  are  trying  to  be- 
lieve that  you  dislike  him,  but  you  do  not ;  your  love 
as  yet  is  unquenched." 

Just  then  there  was  a  sharp  ring  at  the  street 
door.  Laura  glanced  at  a  clock  on  the  mantel.  It 
was  half  after  four. 


184:       Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred. 


"  He  has  come,"  she  said,  a  pallor  sweeping  over 
her  face  in  dread  of  the  prospective  interview. 

"  Don't  you  believe  it!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Ver- 
no}Tse.  "  Unless  he's  another  '  Sampson  Brass  '  he 
will  never  have  the  effrontery  to  face  me.  You  have 
bewitched  him  no  doubt,  but  now  that  he  is  unveiled 
he  will  speedily  come  to  his  senses,  and  never  in 
my  presence  dare  deny  my  acquaintance  any  more 
than  he  will  dare  proclaim  Mrs.  Cornell  to  be  his 
common-law  wife,  and  disgrace  his  children.  He 
agreed  to  come  here  simply  to  throw  you  off  your 
guard  until  he  could  get  away.  Very  likely  he'll 
take  the  first  steamer  back  to  London  and  remain 
there  until  this  affair  blows  over.  Perhaps  he  will 
write  begging  you  not  to  betray  him  to  his  wife. 
The  next  time  he  returns  to  this  country  I  dare  say 
he  will  go  to  her  direct  instead  of  chasing  off  after 
you  or  any  other  pretty  girl." 

A  moment  later  a  servant  entered  to  announce 
Mr.  Cornell. 

Mrs.  Vernoyse  rose  from  her  chair.  "The  man 
is  a  lunatic  !  "  she  cried,  "and  certainly  irrespon- 
sible for  his  actions.  It  doesn't  matter  whether 
Mrs.  Cornell  is  his  wife  legally  or  not ;  she  certainly 
has  an  undisputable  claim  on  him.  But  who  would 
have  believed  it  ?  And  what  does  he  mean  by  com- 
ing here?  Does  he  imagine  you  will  forgive  him 
and  many  him  after  such  a  course  ?  It's  a  positive 
insult  to  you." 

4 '  Please  go  to  him  alone,"  pleaded  Laura.  "I 
will  follow  and  remain  unseen." 


Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred.  185 


Mrs.  Vernoyse  descended  the  stairs  looking  very 
severe,  and  ready  to  wage  war  with  the  poltroon  who 
would  desert  and  compromise  his  family  because  of 
an  unhallowed  infatuation,  and  who  had  sought  to 
compromise  a  pure  and  high-minded  girl  as  well. 

On  entering  the  reception-room  a  stranger  politely 
rose  and  stepped  forward.  She  glanced  swiftly 
about  but  no  one  else  was  there.  Evidently  Miss 
Burton's  admirer  had  not  dared  face  her  after  all, 
and  had  sent  a  substitute. 

"I  was  expecting  to  see  Mr.  Cornell,"  she  said 
coldly.    "  You  represent  him,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"I  am  Mr.  Cornell,"  he  replied  with  dignity. 
44  Whom  have  I  the  honor  of  addressing?  " 

"lam  Mrs.  Vernoyse." 

He  stepped  back,  surprised  into  silence.  He  had 
expected  to  find  a  much  younger  woman — a  bleached 
blonde  of  the  adventuress  type  who  had  cleverly  suc- 
ceeded in  influencing  Miss  Burton.  But  this  elderly 
woman  with  a  noble  face,  a  crown  of  fluffy  grey 
hair,  and  majestic  bearing,  astonished  him. 

Her  surprise  was  equal  to  his  own.  "Are  you 
Mr.  Cornell  of  4  Glenmoyne  ?  '  "  she  asked. 

44 1  am,"  he  returned  frankly. 

44  Are  you  the  man  who  Miss  Burton  believes  has 
dealt  so  treacherously  with  her?  " 

44  Unfortunately  I  am." 

For  the  moment  they  were  guilty  of  staring  at 
each  other. 

Mr.  Cornell  spoke  first.  44  Is  Miss  Burton  here  ?  " 
he  questioned. 


186       Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred. 


"  Yes,  she  is  here  and  will  see  you  presently." 

et  May  I  ask  if  you  are  the  Mrs.  Vernoyse  who 
claims  to  know  me  and,  if  I  remember  correctly,  to 
know  my  wife  ?  " 

44  I  do  not  know  you,"  she  answered,  44  but  I 
know  a-Mr.  Cornell  who  is  near  enough  like  you  to 
be  your  twin  brother." 

A  sudden  inspiration  came  to  her.  44  Do  you 
know  Mrs.  H.  L.  Cornell  of  —  West  Fifty-seventh 
street?"  she'asked  eagerly. 

44 1  know  her  well,"  he  replied,  44  she  is  my 
brother's  wife." 

44  And  you?" 

44 1  am  H.  L.  Cornell  also,  my  name  being  Harold 
Livingston,  while  my  brother's  is  Henry  Lamont 
Cornell." 

A  smile  of  satisfaction  suddenly  lighted  his  eyes, 
the  links  were  gradually  breaking  away  without  vio- 
lence. His  character  was  about  to  be  cleared.  He 
was  perfectly  innocent  of  the  unjust  suspicion  rest- 
ing upon  him.  He  had  no  wife,  and  the  only  wo- 
man whom  he  had  ever  desired  to  make  his  wife  was 
Laura  Burton.  The  Mrs.  H.  L.  Cornell,  from  whose 
steel-blue  eyes  Laura  had  once  withdrawn  her  own, 
and  whose  signature  at  the  Emporium  had  given  her 
such  a  shock,  was  Mrs.  Henry  Lamont  Cornell,  Mr. 
Harold  Livingston  Cornell's  sister-in-law.  Many 
months  before,  when  business  interests  took  Henry 
Lamont  Cornell  to  London,  he  requested  his  brother 
Harold  to  look  in  occasionally  during  his  absence  to 
see  that  Pauline  and  the  children  were  all  right.  He 


Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred.  187 


promised  to  do  so,  and  kept  his  word,  although  he 
had  but  little  regard  for  his  brother's  wife,  whose 
tastes  and  opinions  differed  entirely  from  his  own. 
Nevertheless,  every  morning  while  iu  town,  until  he 
found  it  necessary  to  join  his  brother  in  London,  he 
called  at  her  residence  in  AVest  Fifty-seventh  street 
to  see  if  he  could  be  of  any  service,  and  the  fact  of 
her  having  required  his  services  one  morning  ac- 
counts for  my  heroine's  error  concerning  him. 

It  flashed  to  his  mind  like  a  revelation  that  Miss 
Burton  had  seen  him  in  company  with  Pauline  that 
morning,  and  afterward  when  Pauline  had  spoken  of 
her  husband  Miss  Burton  had  believed  she  was 
speaking  of  him. 

Mrs.  Vernoyse,  not  being  dull  of  comprehension, 
understood  the  situation  in  an  instant  and  realized 
the  great  injustice  done  the  man  before  her.  Eager 
to  undo  the  wrong,  she  impulsively  grasped  his 
hands. 

"I  came  here  to  censure  you,"  she  said,  "  for 
contemplating  a  wrong  to  your  family  and  to  Laura 
Burton ;  but  it  is  all  a  mistake,  and  I  congratulate 
you  instead  and  ask  forgiveness  for  my  unjust  sus- 
picions and  for  hers.  I  know  you  love  her,"  she 
continued,  "  for  in  her  need  of  advice  she  confided 
everything  to  me.  I  am  equally  certain  she  loves 
you,  although  she  has  just  assured  me  very  positively 
to  the  contrary ;  and  she  is  very  much  distressed, 
believing  as  she  does  that  you  are  Mr.  H.  L.  Cornell 
of  Fifty-seventh  street,  whom  she  knows  to  be  a 
husband  and  father." 


188 


Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hu  ndred. 


Mrs.  Vernoyse  turned  to  call  Laura,  but  Laura 
was  standing  as  though  transfixed  on  the  threshold. 
She  had  overheard  all,  and  the  sudden  reaction  was 
overwhelming.  Mr.  Cornell  saw  her,  knew  that  she 
loved  him,  and  in  his  intense  joy  and  relief  he  step- 
ped forward  regardless  of  Mrs.  Vernoyse'  presence 
and  clasped  her  in  his  arms.  She  raised  her  face  to 
his,  and  the  expression  of  happiness  there  convinced 
him  that  at  last  she  thought  him  worthy  of  her  love. 
Hurriedly  withdrawing  from  his  arms  she  said  : 

u  Can  you  ever  forgive  me?  " 

4'I  have  nothing  to  forgive,"  he  returned  gently. 
"  I  have  not  entertained  one  hard  thought  toward 
you.  I  know  that  from  your  standpoint  you  could 
not  have  acted  differently.  But  let  us  drop  the  past, 
the  present  is  quite  sufficient." 

"I  must  tell  you,"  she  replied.  "I  cannot  be 
satisfied  until  you  know  how  it  all  occurred.  Then 
I,  too,  will  be  glad  to  drop  the  subject  forever  as 
the  greatest  mistake  of  my  life." 

Mrs.  Vernoyse  had  prudently  disappeared,  and 
Laura  told  her  story,  and  then  innocently  asked  if 
he  thought  her  justified. 

•;  Certainly,"  he  said. 

"And  had  I  not  taken  for  granted  that  'II.  L. 
Cornell '  could  only  mean  you,  all  my  anxiety  and 
distress  would  have  been  averted." 

"  Did  you  love  me  sufficiently,  even  then,  to  feel 
distressed?"  he  asked  tenderly. 

u  I  suffered  far  more  than  you  can  imagine,"  was 
her  quick,  impulsive  reply. 


Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred.  180 


iL  My  poor  darling,"  he  exclaimed  with  sudden 
impulse,  "  I  am  so  glad  to  know  that  my  love  for 
you  was  returned  even  then.  Fate  was  not  quite  so 
cruel  as  it  might  have  been." 

Mrs.  Vernoyse  re-entered  to  invite  them  to  stay 
and  dine  with  her. 

"  I  dare  not,"  returned  Laura,  hurriedly  rising. 
"  My  mother  did  not  even  know  that  I  was  coming 
into  town,  and  will  be  anxious  if  I  am  not  at  home 
to  dinner." 

Mr.  Cornell  rose  to  accompany  her. 

"Well,"  said  Mrs.  Vernoyse,  addressing  him, 
"  what  is  to  be  the  next  move  in  this  drama?  " 

"  Nothing  to-night,"  he  replied,  "  except  to  see 
that  Miss  Burton  reaches  home  by  seven  o'clock." 

"  She  will  need  to  reach  there  some  time  before 
seven,"  observed  Mrs.  Vernoyse.  "Were  she  to 
appear  at  the  dinner-table  in  any  other  than  full 
dinner-dress,  Mrs.  Burton  would  certainly  be  dis- 
pleased. I  sometimes  waive  these  small  points  in 
cases  of  emergency,  but  Mrs.  Burton  is  very  precise." 

Mr.  Cornell  looked  at  his  watch.  "It  is  half- 
after  five,"  he  said.  "  We  have  fifteen  minutes  to 
spare  and  catch  the  six  o'clock  train  from  Forty- 
second  street.  That  will  land  us  at  our  own  station 
at  six-twenty,  and  give  Miss  Burton  thirty-five  min- 
utes to  reach  home  and  prepare  for  dinner.  Will 
that  do?" 

"  Quite  well,"  replied  Laura. 

"It  would  not  do  for  most  ladies — Helen,  for 
instance,"  remarked  Mrs.  Vernoyse. 


190 


Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred. 


"  But  it  will  be  sufficient  for  me,"  returned  Laura ; 
u  with  Zoa's  assistance  half  an  hour  will  work  a 
decided  transformation." 

Mrs.  Vernoyse  turned  to  Mr.  Cornell.  "May  1 
ask  how  you  intend  to  approach  Mrs.  Burton  in  this 
matter?"  she  inquired  curiously. 

"I  intend  to  call  upon  her  in  the  morning,"  he 
returned  good-humoredly,  "  and  ask  her  point  blank 
to  sanction  our  engagement." 

"  I  fear  your  call  may  not  be  pleasant,"  was  the 
rather  discouraging  reply.  "  Mrs.  Burton  has  her 
peculiarities,  and  one  of  them  is  a  desire  to  keep  her 
children  with  her  as  long  as  she  lives ;  in  fact  — 
judging  from  her  present  state  of  health  —  until 
they  are  so  old  that  no  one  else  will  want  them."" 

Greatly  to  Mrs.  Vernoyse'  surprise,  however,  and 
to  the  surprise  of  all  concerned,  Mr.  Cornell's  inter- 
view with  Mrs.  Burton  the  next  morning  was  in  every 
way  satisfactory,  and  their  engagement  sanctioned 
quite  graciously. 

During  the  afternoon  Mrs.  Vernoyse  called  at 
44  Wild  wood,"  having  received  a  note  by  messenger 
from  Laura,  detailing  the  result  of  the  interview. 
On  finding  Mr.  Cornell  there  she  extended  to  him 
her  earnest  congratulations.  Before  her  arrival 
Laura  had  told  him  of  the  great  friendship  existing 
between  them,  and  how  magnanimously  Mrs.  Ver- 
noyse had  treated  her,  and  Mr.  Cornell  regretted 
more  than  ever  that  even  in  thought  he  had  accused 
her  of  conspiring  against  him. 

The  next  spring  Laura   Burton  became  Mrs. 


Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred.  191 


Cornell,  and  that  summer  reigned  as  the  lady  of 
"  Glenmoyne." 

Aside  from  those  directly  interested,  no  one  was 
more  pleased  over  the  event  than  Lillian  Chester, 
who  almost  daily  assures  her  "  auntie  Laura  "  that 
she  could  love  no  other  unele  quite  so  well  as  she 
loves  "uncle  Harold."  She  also  prides  herself 
in  the  fact  of  having  introduced  them  to  each 
other,  and  as  a  proper  recompense  insists  that  she 
be  permitted  to  spend  the  "largest  half"  of  her 
time  with  them  and  the  "  smallest  half "  with  her 
grandmother. 

As  for  Helen,  she  shows  every  indication  of  fully 
complying  with  her  mother's  wishes  in  so  far  as 
never  leaving  the  maternal  roof  is  concerned. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Cornell  find  life  very  complete  ; 
they  are  particularly  devoted  to  each  other,  but  not 
to  the  selfish  exclusion  of  all  else.  Mr.  Cornell  not 
only  encourages  his  wife  in  her  kindly  and  generous 
disposition,  but  is  ready  and  willing  to  aid  any 
scheme  which  she  may  project  in  the  name  of  char- 
ity or  in  behalf  of  our  "dumb  animals." 


192       Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred. 


AUTHOR'S  APPENDIX. 

The  story  is  finished,  and  I  have  laid  down  my 
pen  with  reluctance,  because  there  is  so  much  more 
I  wished  to  say,  or  have  my  characters  say  for  me 
had  space  permitted.  But  there  are  some  things 
ignored  by  the  great  majority  that  I  cannot  leave 
unsaid. 

I  have  heard  clergymen  pray  fervently  for  Divine 
protection  over  rulers  of  nations,  and  others  well  able 
to  take  care  of  themselves.  I  have  listened  to  ex- 
hortations to  apply  the  "  golden  rule"  in  our  treat- 
ment of  each  other.  I  have  made  diligent  inquiries 
of  the  youth  I  have  met  concerning  the  advice  their 
teachers  gave  them.  And  in  all  those  prayers,  in 
all  those  exhortations,  and  in  all  the  advice,  rarely  a 
word  of  sympathy  or  counsel  was  uttered  for  God's 
lower  animals. 

The  subject  of  Humanity  is  inexhaustible  ;  the 
application  of  its  principles  is  essential  wherever 
man  exists,  and  the  progress  of  his  civilization  is 
measured  more  by  the  development  of  his  humane 
instincts  than  by  all  the  scientific  achievements  of 
his  genius.  Some  nations  are  called  barbarous  by 
reason  of  their  comparatively  cruel  customs  ;  others 
civilized,  but  their  cruelties  are  only  the  more  de- 
plorable. The  law  of  might  is  the  force  in  nature 
which  makes  it  possible  for  the  strong  to  oppress 
the  weak,  and  when  man's  instincts  rise  above  this 


Some  of  New  Tories  Four  Hundred.  193 


law  the  results  are  acts  of  kindness  not  only  to  his 
fellow  man  but  to  the  dumb  animals  whose  faith- 
fulness is  so  often  recompensed  by  kicks  and  blows. 
This  beautiful  world,  which  might  be  so  bright,  so 
happy,  is  full  of  sorrow,  and  is  often  likened  to  a 
vale  of  tears ;  for  cries  of  anguish  are  daily  and 
hourly  ascending  because  of  man's  inhumanity  to 
man  as  well  as  to  animal  kiud. 

The  growth  of  criminal  instincts  begins  with  the 
boy  when  parents  laugh  at  his  cruelties  to  the 
dog  or  the  cat,  or  smile  when  he  shouts  with  glee 
at  the  struggles  of  some  insect  or  butterfly  he  has 
robbed  of  its  wings.  They  teach  him  his  evening 
prayers  almost  as  soon  as  he  has  learned  to  lisp, 
but  they  overlook  the  most  important  factor  in  the 
development  of  his  better  qualities  when  they  neglect 
the  education  of  the  heart,  and  omit  to  teach  him  to 
be  gentle  and  kind. 

Parents,  teachers  and  clergymen  have  the  develop- 
ment of  the  child  entirely  in  their  care,  and  their 
influence  is  most  powerful  in  shaping  its  destiny. 
With  the  parent  rests  the  great  responsibility  ;  with 
the  teacher  and  clergyman  the  opportunity.  It  was 
a  kind  and  wise  man  who  said  :  ' '  Just  so  soon  and 
so  far  as  we  pour  into  all  our  schools  the  songs, 
poems  and  literature  of  mercy  toward  these  lower 
creatures,  just  so  soon  and  so  far  shall  we  reach  the 
roots  not  only  of  cruelty,  but  of  crime."  And  he 
could  safely  have  added  :  ' '  and  reduce  both  to  a 
minimum  in  one  generation,  and  in  time  abolish 
them." 


19-4       Some  of  New  York's  Four  Hundred. 

Again  I  must  lay  down  my  pen.  Not  that  this 
subject  is  exhausted  or  that  I  am  bidding  it  a  nual 
farewell,  for  it  is  my  firm  belief  that  cruelties  are 
more  the  result  of  indifference,  ignorance  and  tem- 
per than  from  a  natural  desire  to  be  cruel ;  and  if  this 
book  be  the  means  of  making  a  single  person  more 
kind,  more  considerate  of  the  poor  dumb  creatures 
at  his  mercy,  it  will  haye  demonstrated  that  oppor- 
tunities for  doing  a  good  work  rest  not  alone  with 
parents,  teachers  and  clergymen,  but  with  authors 
as  well.  A.  O.  C. 


"WHAT   DO   YOU    MEAN    BY  HUMANE 


EDUCATION,    MR.  ANGELL?" 

I  answer. 

(i.)  That  which  tells  the  ill  effects  on  human  beings,  of  the  ill  treat- 
ment of  dumb  animals  —  how  it  poisons  meats  and  milk  —  how  even  fish, 
killed  mercifully  as  soon  as  they  are  caught,  are  better  and  more  whole- 
some food  than  those  that  suffer  before  they  die  —  how  important  insect 
eating  birds  are  to  agriculture  — how  important  that  they  and  their  nests 
be  protected. 

(2.)  That  which  teaches  how  animals  should  be  cared for  —  as  to  tight 
check  reins,  blinders,  docking,  proper  food,  rest,  protection  from  the 
weather,  exercise,  kind  words,  and  a  merciful  death. 

(3.)  But  infinitely  more  important,  that  which 
tends  to  prevent  all  cruelty,  both  to  our  own  and  the  lower 
races. 

(4.)  Through  over  sixty  years  of  my  own  life  I  can  remember  the 
songs  and  stories  of  my  boyhood.    They  have  influenced  my  whole  life. 

(5-)  While  all  the  other  American  Colonies  were  at  war  with  the 
Indians,  the  Colony  founded  by  William  Penn  rested  in  perfect  peace. 

(6.)  In  1S7S  I  called  upon  President  Hayes,  at  Washington,  to  ask  him 
to  put  in  his  annual  message  to  Congress  something  in  regard  to  the 
cruel  transportation  of  animals.  He  said  :  "  When  I  was  at  school  I  once 
heard  a  sermon  in  regard  to  animals,  which  I  have  never  forgotten  "  ,'  and 
he  put  into  his  message  to  Congress  almost  verbatim  what  I  vjrote. 

(7.)  In  1S75  I  addressed  the  Faculty  and  students  of  Dartmouth  Col- 
lege, on  the  relation  of  animals  that  can  speak  to  those  that  are  dumb. 

In  1SS5,  ten  years  later,  at  the  close  of  an  address  to  the  Faculty  and 
students  of  a  university  in  New  Orleans,  a  gentleman  rose  in  the  audi- 
ence and  said:  "  Some  ten  years  ago  I  was  a  student  in  Dartmouth  Col- 
lege, when  Mr.  Angell gave  an  address  there  on  this  subject.  I  had  never 
thought  of  it  before.  When  I  left  college  no  one  thought  was  ?nore 
strongly  impressed  on  my  mind  than  that  of  my  duty  to  the  lower  ani- 
mals."   He  was  the  superintendent  of  the  public  schools  of  Minneapolis. 

(S.)  In  1870  and '71  I  spent  about  six  months,  and  about  six  hundred 
dollars,  founding,  at  Chicago,  fie  Illinois  Humane  Society.  Although 
every  daily  paper  in  the  city  helped  me,  ar.A  printed  columns  I  wrote,  I 
should  have  failed  to  raise  the  necessary  funds  but  for  one  man  who  had 
been  taught,  when  a  little  boy  in  Nevj  Hampshire,  kindness  to  animals.  In 
the  great  stock  yards  of  Chicago  alone  millions  of  dumb  animals  are  noz$ 
properly  fed  and  watered,  and  largely  protected  from  cruelty  every  year, 
because  that  little  boy  was  taught  kindness  to  animals. 

Fathers  may  be  cruel,  mothers  may  be  cruel,  brothers  and  sisters  may 
be  cruel.  It  may  be  impossible  in  many  instances  to  teach  kindness 
through  them.  But  even  in  the  homes  of  crime,  hearts  may  be  made  more 
tender  by  kind  acts  and  words  for  the  dumb  creatures  that  always  return, 
love  for  love.  Geo.  T.  Angell. 


Extract  from  Address  of  Mr.  Angell  to  the 
Annual  Meeting  of  "The  American  Social 
Science  Association,"  in  New  York  City, 
May  21,1  874. 

EASY  TO  INTEREST  CHILDREN. 

"  It  is  very  easy  to  enlist  the  sympathies  of  children  in  the 
animal  world.  Take,  for  instance,  the  history  and  habits 
of  birds:  show  how  wonderfully  they  are  created;  how  kind 
to  their  young;  how  useful  to  agriculture;  what  power 
they  have  in  flight.  The  swallow  that  flies  sixty  miles  an 
hour,  or  the  frigate  bird  which,  in  the  words  of  Audubon, 
'flies  with  the  velocity  of  a  meteor,'  and,  according  to  Mi- 
chelet.  can  float  at  an  elevation  of  ten  thousand  feet,  and 
cross  the  tropical  Atlantic  Ocean  in  a  single  night ;  or  those 
birds  of  beauty  and  of  song,  the  oriole,  the  linnet,  the  lark, 
and,  sweetest  of  all,  the  nightingale,  whose  voice  caused 
one  of  old  to  exclaim,  1  Lord,  what  music  hast  thou  pro- 
vided for  saints  in  heaven,  when  thou  hast  afforded  such 
music  for  men  on  earth  ? ' 

"  Or,  take  that  wonderful  beast  of  the  desert,  the  camel, 
tvhich,  nourished  by  its  own  humps  of  fat,  and  carrying  its 
own  reservoirs  of  water,  pursues  it  toilsome  way  across 
pathless  deserts  for  the  comfort  and  convenience  of  man. 

"  Is  it  not  easy  to  carry  up  the  minds  and  hearts  of  chil- 
dren by  thoughts  like  these  from  the  creature  to  the  infi- 
nitely zaise,  good,  and  powerful  Creator  ? 

"  I  believe  there  is  a  great  defect  in  our  systems  of  edu- 
cation. I  believe  that  in  our  public  schools  it  is  quite  as 
possible  to  develop  the  heart  as  the  intellect,  and  that  when 
this  is  required  and  done,  we  shall  not  only  have  higher 
protection  for  dumb  creatures,  and  so  increased  length  of 
human  life,  but  also  human  life  better  developed  and  better 
worth  living.  I  believe  that  the  future  student  of  Ameri- 
can history  will  wonder,  that  in  the  public  schools  of  a  free 
government  whose  very  existence  depended  upon  public 
integrity  and  morals,  so  much  attention  should  have  been 
paid  to  the  cultivation  of  the  intellect,  and  so  little  to  the 
cultivation  of  the  heart." 


Extract  from  Address  of  Mr.  Angel!  before 
the  "  International  Congress  of  Educators," 
at  New  Orleans,  Louisiana,  Feb.  26,  1  885. 


"The  wonderful  growth  of  societies  for  the  prevention 
of  cruelty  to  animals  is  a  subject  with  which  probably  some 
of  you  are  familiar ;  how  they  have  stretched  out  their  pro- 
tecting arms,  not  only  in  this  country,  but  in  Europe,  Asia, 
Africa,  and  many  islands  of  various  oceans,  numbering 
among  their  members  many  of  the  noblest,  best,  and  most 
illustrious  of  the  world's  citizens-  In  England  the  Royal 
Society  is  under  the  patronage  of  the  Queen,  and  its  Presi- 
dent a  member  of  the  Queen's  Privy  Council. 

"  The  first  audience  I  had  the  pleasure  of  addressing 
there  some  years  ago  was  presided  over  by  one  of  the 
most  learned  men  in  England,  the  Lord  Bishop  of  Glouces- 
ter and  Bristol,  and  the  gentleman  who  moved  the  vote  of 
thanks  was  Field  Marshal  Sir  John  Burgoyne,  very  near 
the  head  of  the  British  army ;  the  second  was  at  the  house 
of  the  Baroness  Burdett-Coutts  —  probably,  next  to  the 
Queen,  the  most  highly  respected  woman  in  England. 

"  In   France,  Germany,  and    elsewhere,  wherever  I  have 

traveled  in  Europe,  I  have  found  the  same.    One  German 

society  numbers  among  its  members  twenty-three  generals 
and  over  two  hundred  officers  of  the  German  army. 

"In  my  own  State  of  Massachusetts,  I  think  that  no 
charitable  society  of  the  State  has  on  its  roll  of  officers  and 
members  more  distinguished  and  influential  names  than 
the  Massachusetts  Society  for  the  Prevention  of  Cruelty 
to  Animals.  I  think  that  no  society  in  the  State  is  better 
known,  or  more  popular. 

"  But,  in  the  limited  period  allotted  me,  one  thing  I  do 
have  time  to  tell  you;  and  that  is,  that  we  long  ago  found 
that  the  great  remedy  for  all  the.>e  wrongs  lies,  not  in  laws 
and  prosecuting  officers,  but  in  the  public  and  private 
schools ;  that  a  thousand  cases  of  cruelty  can  be  prevented 
by  kind  words  and  humane  educat'j-'.?  for  every  one  that 
can  be  prevented  by  prosecution." 


What  is  Overloading  a  Horse,  and  How 
Proved  ? 


By  GEORGE  T.  ANGELL, 

Founder  of  the  American  Humane  Education  Society,  the  Massachusetts 
Society  for  the  Prevention  of  Cruelty  to  A  nimals,  and  the  Parent 
American  Band  of  Mercy,  43  Milk  Street,  Boston. 

The  following,  taken  from  "  Bishop  on  Statutory  Crimes"  edi- 
tion of  1873,  page  689,  is  believed  to  be  sound  law,  the  world 
cvery  on  the  above  subject. 

It  was  written  by  Mr.  Angell  in  reviewing  a  decision  of  a 
Massachusetts  Court  in  1868  that  there  was  no  cruelty  because 
other  horses  of  the  same  weight  were  able  to  draw  the  load  in 
question.  //  was  the  first  and  last  decision  of  the  kind  ever  ren- 
dered in  Massachusetts. 

"  Must  an  animal  be  worked  until  he  breaks  a  blood  vessel  01 
drops  dead,  before  the  law  takes  cognizance  ?  Is  the  horse  to 
be  strained,  or  worked  to  the  extreme  limit  of  his  strength,  be- 
fore such  straining  or  working  becomes  a  cruelty  (that  is,  before 
the  act  of  his  master  becomes  overloading ' )  ?  Can  an  ex- 
pert, or  any  number  of  experts,  say  what  is  the  limit  of  strength 
or  endurance  of  any  horse,  simply  by  knowing  his  weight?  H 
seems  to  me  that  these  questions  can  be  easily  answered. 
Horses,  like  men,  are  of  different  ages,  constitutions,  tempera- 
ments, formation,  and  degrees  of  strength.  One  horse,  just  like 
one  man,  may  be  twice  as  fast,  twice  as  tough,  twice  as  strong, 
as  another  of  precisely  the  same  weight ;  and,  inasmuch  as  horses, 
like  men,  are  liable  to  a  great  variety  of  sicknesses,  and  suffer, 
just  like  men,  from  previous  overworking  and  from  heat,  want 
of  proper  rest,  food,  water,  shelter,  and  care,  it  follows  that  the 
same  horse,  like  the  same  man,  may  be  able  to  perform  without 
injury  more  labor  in  one  day  than  another. 

"Can  a  thousand  experts  prove  that  all  men  of  a  given  weight 
or  size  are  equally  competent,  on  every  day  of  the  year,  to  per- 
form a  given  labor?  Can  their  testimony  establish  how  much 
load  a  man  of  given  weight  should  carry,  and  how  far  he  should 
carry  it  on  a  given  day,  without  regard  to  whether  the  man  is  old 
or  young,  sick  or  well,  strong  or  weak,  tough  or  tender,  already 
tired  or  rested,  full-fed  or  starved,  or  the  day  hot  or  cold  ?  And 
does  not  precisely  the  same  reason  apply  to  the  horse, —  that 
what  one  horse  can  do  one  day  has  no  force  iti  showing  what  an- 
other ought  to  do  on  another  day,  unless  you  show  the  weather, 
age,  strength,  toughness,  and  bodily  condition  of  the  two  to 
be  precisely  similar?  I  say,  then,  that  it  is  just  as  impossible 
for  any  number  of  experts,  knowing  only  the  weight  or  size  of  a 
horse  and  nothing  of  his  age,  health,  strength,  toughness,  and 
bodily  condition,  to  establish  what  is,  or  is  not,  overloading 


Overloading  a  Horse  (concluded}. 


him,  as  it  would  be,  knowing  only  the  size  or  weight  of  a  man, 
and  nothing  of  his  age,  health,  strength,  toughness,  or  bodily 
condition,  to  establish  what  is  or  is  not  an  overload  for  him. 

"How,  then,  are  we  to  determine  when  a  horse  is  overloaded? 
Just  exactly  and  precisely  as  we  determine  when  a  man  is  over' 
loaded.  First,  we  are  to  take  his  man  evidence.  If  a  man  stops 
and  says,  » I  am  overloaded,  I  am  working  too  hard,  I  feel  that 
the  task  put  upon  me  is  too  heavy,'  that  is  evidence.  So  when 
the  horse,  ordinarily  kind  and  willing  to  pull,  comes  with  a 
heavy  load  to  a  rise  of  land  and,  after  one  or  two  efforts,  stops 
and  says,  as  plainly  as  words  can  speak  it,  '  I  am  overloaded,  I 
am  working  too  hard,  I  feel  that  the  task  put  upon  me  is  too 
heavy,'  that  is  evidence;  and  there  is  no  court  or  jury,  or  man 
with  the  heart  of  a  man,  who  will  not  recognize  it  as  such.  Be- 
sides, the  signs  of  overwork  are  just  as  visible  in  the  horse  as 
the  man.  No  magistrate  or  juror  would  have  any  difficulty  in 
deciding  in  his  own  mind  whether  a  case  to  which  his  attention 
might  be  attracted  in  our  public  streets  was  or  was  not  a  case  of 
cruelty. 

"  Is  not,  then,  the  testimony  of  competent,  intelligent,  and 
credible  bystanders,  who  see  how  the  horse  looks  and  acts,  and 
his  bodily  condition,  health,  and  capability  to  perform  the  labor 
required,  the  best  evidence  that  can  possibly  be  obtained? 
"Where  can  you  get  better?  And  when  disinterested  and  intel- 
ligent witnesses,  who  are  present  and  see  and  hear  all  that  is 
said  and  done  in  a  given  case,  voluntarily  leave  their  ordinary 
avocations  and  come  into  court  to  testify  that  they  are  fully  sat- 
isfied that  the  case  is  a  clear  case  of  cruelty,  can  such  evidence 
be  overbalanced  by  that  of  any  number  of  experts  who  are  not 
present,  see  nothing  that  occurs,  know  nothing  of  the  age, 
health,  strength,  or  bodily  condition  of  the  horse  at  the  time, 
and  who  base  their  calculations  simply  upon  the  avoirdupois 
weight  of  the  animal  ?  It  is  perfectly  evident,  then,  I  say,  that  the 
highest  and  best  evidence  which  any  court  or  jury  can  ask  or  pos- 
sibly obtain  in  a  case  of  overloading,  overworking,  or  overdriv- 
ing, is  the  evidence  of  the  horse  himself,  as  interpreted  by  those 
present  when  the  cruelty  is  inflicted. 

"  Cruelty  begins  very  far  short  of  taking  the  extreme  strength 
of  the  animal.  God  has  given  to  men  and  animals  an  excess  of 
strength,  to  be  husbanded  carefully  and  used  occasionally.  But 
to  task  that  strength  to  its  full  limit  unnecessarily  is  against  na- 
ture, breaks  down  the  man  or  the  animal  before  his  or  its  time, 
and  is  a  cruelty  against  which  men,  having  speech  and  reason, 
may  protect  themselves,  but  against  which  animals,  having  neither 
speech  nor  reason  like  7?ien,  mast  look  to  them  for  protection" 


Founders  of  American  Band  of  Mercy 

GEO.  T.   ANGELL    and    REV.  THOMAS  TIMMINS 

Officers  of  Parent  American  Band  of  Mercy 

DR.  FRANCIS  H.  ROWLEY,  President 

GUY  RICHARDSON,  Secretary 

Over  seventy-seven  thousand  branches  of  the  Parent  Ameri- 
can Band  of  Mercy  have  been  formed,  with  over  two 
million  members.    They  are  in  every  State  and 
Territory  and  in  many  foreign  countries. 

PLEDGE 

"I  will  try  to  be  kind  to  all  living  creatures  and  try  to 
protect  them  from  cruel  usage." 

M.  S.  P.  C.  A.  on  our  badges  means  "Merciful  Society 
Prevention  of  Cruelty  to  All."  1882  shows  the  year  when 
founded. 

We  send  without  cost,  to  every  person  asking,  a  copy  of 
"Band  of  Mercy  Information"  and  other  publications;  also 
without  cost,  to  every  person  who  forms  a  Band  of  Mercy, 
obtaining  the  signatures  of  thirty  adults  or  children  or  both 
to  the  pledge,  and  sends  us  the  name  chosen  for  the  Band 
and  the  name  and  post  office  address  (town  and  state)  of  the 
president  who  has  been  duly  elected: 

1.  Our  monthly  paper,  Our  Dumb  Animals,  for  one  year. 

2.  Annual  Report  of  the  American  Humane  Education  Society  and  the 
Massachusetts  S.  P.  C.  A. 

3.  Mr.  Angell's  "Address  to  the  Boston  Public  Schools,"  "Twelve  Les- 
sons on  Kindness  to  Animals,"  and  "Relation  of  Animals  That  Can  Speak 
to  Those  That  Are  Dumb." 


